Darkness
by Emily Blake
Summary: As the team hunts for a twisted serial killer, Ryan is sidelined by a terrible injury. And when he becomes the psychopath's newest target, Ryan will have to fight harder than ever just to survive. Reviews immensely appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Ryan watched as the green Taurus was pulled out of the canal, the steel tow cable clanking loudly in his ear. Divers guided the car out of the marshy water, waves of brown muck cascading out of the open windows and from under the hood.

Jesse stood next to Ryan, both men watching silently, iron-jawed. Both felt a tight ball of burning anger settle somewhere behind their stomachs.

"You think it's another one?" Ryan asked tightly.

"For her sake, I hope not," Jesse answered quietly.

The workers finally hauled the car out of the water; it settled on the muddy banks with a squelch. Tom strode forward from the side to examine the dead body in the driver's seat. Ryan and Jesse approached him slowly, neither wanting to see what they knew awaited them in the car.

Ryan shook his head in sorrow and resignation when he saw her.

A young woman, no more than thirty years old, was waxy white in the front seat of the car. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head and matted with blood and canal filth. Her face was heavily bruised; her nose was clearly broken. Black and purple rings of bruising wrapped around her neck and both wrists. Her clothes were heavily spotted with blood and were uncommonly disheveled, indicating the killer had redressed her.

Jesse walked around to the passenger's side of the car as Tom carefully opened the driver's side door to more closely examine the body.

"Can you unbutton her shirt, Tom?" Ryan asked reluctantly.

The medical examiner looked at him sadly, knowing why. He carefully complied, undoing the top two buttons of the woman's yellow silk blouse.

A dark red bullet hole went straight through her heart, an angry pink burn in the shape of a gun muzzle surrounding it. Someone had pressed a gun to her chest and fired, the heat from the blast melting the imprint into her skin.

Tom and Ryan looked at each other knowingly.

Tom sighed. "I'll examine the tissue surrounding the wound at the post, but I would guess that the gunshot was post-mortem. Cause of death was probably strangulation, judging by the bruising around her neck and the cyanosis of her lips."

"Same as Hailey Jackson, Dianna Young and Laura Dominguez," Ryan said. "Casanova has his fourth victim."

"Her name's Rachel Pope," Jesse called from the other side of the car. He held up a water-logged registration document he fished out of the glove compartment. "Does she have the muzzle stamp on her chest?"

Ryan and Tom nodded. Jesse cursed under his breath.

"I'll start the post right away," Tom assured them.

"Maybe this bastard's finally left us something to nail him with," Ryan growled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Calleigh's heels clopped hollowly along the shiny stone floors of the morgue. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she shouldered her way into the frigid exam room.

Tom had that morning's victim already on the table, waiting for her. He smiled at her sadly as she approached.

"Ah, I see the even-tempered one has been chosen for this assignment," he remarked.

Calleigh sighed. "Yeah, I thought Ryan and Jesse could use a break from the Casanova case. They took the post for the other three victims, thought I'd take a turn."

Tom nodded. "Even one's too many. You sure you're up for it?"

Calleigh shook her head slightly, looking at the floor. "No, but let's just get it over with, okay?"

Tom nodded again.

"So," she began, steeling herself. "Cause of death. Strangulation?"

"Actually, no."

Calleigh looked at him sharply. "No? But I thought Casanova always strangled his victims..."

"He does. He just messed up this time."

Tom pointed to the bullet hole, stark black against her purple-mottled skin. "I found evidence in the wound track that blood was still flowing at the time of the gunshot wound. I followed it deeper and found evidence of massive bleeding in her chest cavity. Her heart was beating when the bullet perforated it."

"The bullet holes in the other Casanova victims were all definitely post-mortem," Calleigh said.

"Yes," Tom affirmed. "Strangled and then shot. But Rachel Pope was most definitely still alive when she was shot. And there was no water in her lungs, meaning she was dead by the time her car was pushed into the canal."

"He's escalating," Calleigh said softly.

"I'm not so sure," Tom remarked. "I think he was still trying to follow his usual m.o. I think when he went to strangle Rachel Pope, he only rendered her unconscious. He didn't kill her. And then he made his mark on her."

Calleigh made a sound of sympathy.

"She died in a matter of seconds," Tom said quickly, as if trying to make her feel better.

Calleigh nodded. "Okay. What else?"

Tom lifted Rachel's limp arm. Blue and purple bruising blossomed all up and down her flesh. "Significant amounts of bruising over fifty percent of her body surface, and I found at least three different stages of healing in different areas. She was beaten badly over the course of a few days. Judging by the sizes and shapes of the marks, the killer used just his hands and feet."

"That's consistent with Casanova's work," Calleigh pointed out. "Did she have the head trauma like the other women?"

"Yeah, blunt force to the back of the head."

Tom put her arm down and gently turned her neck and parted her silky blonde hair to show Calleigh the bloody gash hidden beneath.

"I'll get you a mold right away," he promised.

Calleigh looked crestfallen. "It'll probably match the other three. We think he used a tire iron. Not exactly an uncommon item."

"I'll get you a mold anyway," he assured her. "It is consistent with the other three. It was a hard enough blow to knock her out but not enough to cause any interior brain damage."

"He hit her, tied her up and beat her for days before finally killing her," Calleigh said. "It all fits." She steadied herself for a moment. "And was she sexually assaulted?"

Tom eyes were sorrowful. He nodded. "Just like the other ones. Like the beating, he did it many times before he killed her. He left tons of DNA."

"Yeah, he's not one to use condoms. But the other samples never gave us a name," she said. "He's not in any of the systems. Not in federal databases, not in national databases..."

"He's a ghost," Tom said.

Calleigh nodded. "We can only hope he'll slip up soon. Is that everything?"

Tom held out a handful of DNA swabs. Calleigh took them.

"Thanks, Tom. I'll let you know if we get anything, okay?"

She moved to leave.

"Calleigh..."

She turned around. Tom was looking at her with a strange sort of fear-tinged sadness on his face.

"I don't want to see another one of these girls on my table," he said thickly. "Ever again."

Calleigh understood him perfectly. "We'll get him, Tom. We will."

(+)

Ryan, Jesse and Walter silently examined Rachel Pope's swamp-stained Taurus in the CSI garage. The canal water and bacteria had destroyed pretty much any possibility of usable fingerprints or DNA, but they searched all the same.

Natalia walked in, pulling on a pair of gloves.

"I hear we have another Casanova victim," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Ryan answered, not taking his eyes off of the steering wheel he was dusting. "Rachel Pope, 28 years old. Stay-at-home mother of two."

Natalia sighed. "This has got to stop. We need to find this monster."

"By all means, jump in," Ryan said.

Natalia joined the three men as they worked, each careful to stay out of each other's way. No one spoke. They simply worked. There was really nothing else they could do.

"He takes them while their driving, subdues them, beats and rapes them for days, strangles them, then he brands a muzzle stamp on their heart and dumps them in a canal in their own car," Jesse listed off angrily. "This guy is not human."

Calleigh entered the garage, a sheet of paper in her hands. The other four CSIs watched her as she approached, knowing what she held.

"DNA match confirms it," she announced. "Rachel Pope is Casanova's fourth victim."

"That we know of," Walter rumbled.

"Still no hits on any database?" Natalia asked.

Calleigh shook her head. "I think it's time we went back to square one on this guy."

The other four nodded in agreement.

"I'll go repeat interviews with all the victims families, see if they can think of anything new that might help us," Natalia offered.

"I'll help," Jesse said.

"I'll stay on the car," Ryan said.

"Me too," Walter chimed in.

"And I'll be in the layout room, trying to draw parallels between our victims," Calleigh finished.

They all stood in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

"We really need to catch him this time," Jesse said quietly.

Everyone nodded in agreement.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Horatio watched from a distance as Adam Pope knelt down to eye level in front of his two sons. His eyes were red and he was visibly shaking. The boys, four and six years old, listened with wide, worried eyes.

Horatio couldn't hear what Adam said, but after struggling through a few sentences, he pulled his boys in close and hugged them tight. Looking confused and frightened, his sons buried their faces in their father's shirt and the three cried together.

Horatio's heart twisted. There was nothing worse.

He remembered so many of the faces of distraught family members, the people to whom he had to explain why children, parents, siblings, spouses and friends would no longer be coming home. The only thing worse than that was knowing that he had forgotten so many more.

How many people had he delivered such news to in his life?

Horatio tried not to think about it. He would do as he always did: focus on how many lives were saved, how many people were told their loved ones _would_ be coming home. At the end of the day, he could only hope that they would outnumber the others.

"Are you a police officer?"

Horatio turned around.

A young man about thirty years old was standing behind him, looking distraught. He was sweating and out of breath, as if he had been running. His bloodshot green eyes were fraught with panic.

"I am, what's the problem?"

"Please, it's my girlfriend," the man choked, still trying to catch his breath. "She's been kidnapped."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Horatio asked, his nerves revving up.

"This morning," he answered. "Before we both left for work."

"What makes you think she's been kidnapped?"

"This."

The man pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He speed-dialed to his voicemail inbox and switched the phone to speaker.

A woman's frightened voice came crackling through. She was sobbing, but obviously trying to keep her voice down.

"John? John, it's... it's Maggie. I n-need help, I... I d-don't know w-where I am. He... he hit me, I don't know. I w-was d-driving home and... and... Oh, God, he's coming..."

A bang blasted through the speaker. The woman shrieked and the line went dead.

John looked at Horatio pleadingly. "Please, I have to find her..."

"Okay, John, listen to me." Horatio beckoned to a uniform officer to join them. "I need you to go with this officer. She'll take you to a private room. I want you to wait for me there. And I'll need your cell phone. We're going to do everything we can to find Maggie. Okay?"

John nodded, handing him the cell phone and following the patrolwoman.

"Officer Morales," Horatio said, turning to another patrolman. "Would you take this up to Calleigh in CSI? On the double."

"Yes, sir," the officer said, taking the cell phone and striding quickly from the room.

Horatio took out his own phone.

"Mr. Wolfe, join me please."

(+)

Ryan and Horatio sat at the table across from John. The patrolwoman that had brought him in had a pen and paper, ready to take his statement.

"Full name for the record?" she asked.

"It's John. John Redding," he answered impatiently. "Can't this wait? Maggie's out there, we have to do something!"

"Hang on, Mr. Redding," Horatio said gently. "We need to have all the information if we're going to find Maggie. The smallest detail you have may be able to help us."

"And the missing person's full name?" the officer continued.

John swallowed. "Maggie... Margaret Hayes."

"Has Maggie been acting odd lately?" Ryan asked. "Feeling like someone was threatening her, watching her maybe? Problems at work?"

"No, nothing like that. She's a preschool teacher, everyone loves her."

"What about you? Is there anyone who might do something to Maggie to hurt you?"

"I don't think so... I work in advertising, we don't do much to piss people off, you know?"

John's face was suddenly stricken with panic. "They haven't called," he cried. "Why haven't they called? I have some money, I can pay a ransom!"

"John, I know this is difficult, but we need you to focus," Horatio said gently.

"And the last time you saw her was this morning?" Ryan continued.

"Yeah, but I talked to her on the phone this afternoon."

Ryan paused.

"Before she left you the message?" Horatio inquired.

John nodded. "About two hours before. She was driving home from work, called to confirm our dinner plans."

Horatio's heart sped up. "Mr. Redding, in the voicemail Maggie said she was driving home when the man took her. Did she say anything strange on the phone? Maybe someone was following her?"

John's eyes narrowed as he tried to remember. "No, we were just talking... then I heard a noise and she said she'd have to call me back. She hung up before I could say goodbye."

"Mr. Redding, you may have heard something very important," Horatio pressed. "What sort of noise?"

'Like a... a pop, I guess. A loud one. And then as she hung up I thought I could hear rumbling."

"Do you have any idea where she was when she spoke to you?" Ryan asked.

"She was driving home from work," John answered, rubbing his temples with a shaky hand. "She takes... um... Hoffstead Road? I think. It goes through the outskirts, you know, by the canal."

Ryan glanced up at Horatio, who nodded slightly. Ryan stood up from the table.

Horatio addressed John slowly and calmly. "Mr. Redding, I need you to stay here."

"No, I want to help find Maggie!" he protested.

"I need you here in case we need your help again," Horatio insisted. "We'll go look for Maggie."

He left the room before he could argue further, joining Ryan in the hallway. They waited until the door closed soundly behind them to speak.

"H, Hoffstead Road is where we were this morning," Ryan whispered urgently. "It's where we pulled Rachel Pope out of the canal. No ransom demands _and_ Maggie was taken while she was driving, just like all four Casanova victims."

"We could very well have Casanova's fifth victim here, Mr. Wolfe."

"We need to get out there!"

"Get Calleigh and Jesse, and every available uniform," Horatio instructed. "Start at Miss Hayes' school and follow Hoffstead Road. Search the entire area: tire marks, signs of an accident or a struggle, anything."

"We don't have much time before Casanova starts going to work on her..."

"That's why you have to hurry, Mr. Wolfe."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Ryan's eyes were starting to hurt.

He, Calleigh and Jesse, accompanied by four patrol officers, drove slowly down Hoffstead Road, the last place Maggie Hayes was reported to be. They crept along at a snail's pace, scouring the road and the shoulders for any signs of the missing young woman.

Ryan gnawed on his thumb frustratedly. His own heartbeat pounding in his ears ticked off the seconds flying by. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he knew that with each passing moment, Maggie Hayes was one moment closer to being brutalized by Casanova.

Ryan couldn't let that happen. Not again. This monster was not going to get away this time. He would make damn certain of that.

Calleigh, driving the Hummer right in front of him, suddenly braked. Ryan looked up, his heart starting to race. Had she found something?

Calleigh and Jesse got out of the Hummer. She beckoned to Ryan, who practically dove out of his Hummer and fought himself to keep from sprinting to her.

They were out in the borderland of the Everglades, near the canal. They were approximately five or six miles away from where they had found Rachel Pope that very morning. Birds and bugs swarmed, buzzed and chattered all around in the tall grass. The road beneath his feet was dirt; they had left pavement behind a while ago.

Ryan hurried to where Calleigh was walking in front of her Hummer. "What do you got?" he asked anxiously.

She pointed, walking toward the right shoulder of the road. "Tire marks," she said.

The three CSIs gathered around the distinct impressions in the earth.

"Boyfriend says she drives a Trailblazer," Jesse told them.

"That's about the right size," Ryan commented.

"I got some glass here," Calleigh said.

Jesse and Ryan watched as she picked up a big shard of green glass with a pair of tweezers. It wasn't any sort of glass that would be used on a car; it looked more like bottle glass.

"There's a lot of it here," Calleigh pointed out, tucking the glass into an evidence envelope.

Something clicked in Ryan's mind. "The boyfriend said he heard a pop and then a rumble when he was on the phone with Maggie," he told them quickly. "Maybe she popped a tire on this glass?"

"A flat tire would have made a loud rumbling noise," Jesse added.

Calleigh looked around. "It's pretty isolated out here," she said, shading her eyes. "If the kidnapper was following her, there wouldn't have been much stopping him if she had car trouble. She was a sitting duck."

"So, if Maggie blew a tire right here," Jesse said, continuing Calleigh's train of thought. "Why wouldn't she tell her boyfriend when he was on the phone?"

"She probably hung up and got out of the car to check," Ryan guessed.

"And then she would have called someone, a tow truck or 911," Calleigh said.

"But she didn't," Jesse said. "Her cell phone records showed no calls made or received between the two calls to her boyfriend."

The three CSIs looked at each other, thinking everything over.

"Why didn't she call for a tow truck?" Ryan asked.

"She changed the tire herself?" Jesse postulated.

"Or someone stopped to help her," Ryan said.

"No," Calleigh said, pointing.

The men looked at her. Her gaze was not on them, but on a dark shape a long way down the road. Ryan squinted to see it better.

It was a building.

"Why waste the money on a tow truck when someone right down there might be able to help?" she said.

"Let's check it out," Jesse said eagerly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Super-Quick Author's Note: **I am so **so __****so** sorry about how long it's taken me to update. I've been in a car for three days. Needless to say, no Internet. I've been going crazy trying to get back to you :P. So I'm posting the next three chapters all at once, and they have some great action (finally, I know :P). Love you, enjoy!

**

* * *

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**Chapter 5**

The three CSIs left one pair of patrol officers behind to preserve the tire treads as they all got back into the Hummers and took off again down the road. The remaining patrol car accompanied them.

The building Calleigh had spotted in the distance grew steadily closer as they followed the dirt road. It didn't look like anything terribly impressive when they pulled up to it. A handful of beaten-up cars and trucks lay scattered about out front, some on blocks and some with their hoods open.

A peeling sign reading "Phelps Automotive Repair" hung over a rotting door hanging off its hinges. A small sign that said "Open" could barely be seen through the grime-encrusted window. They didn't see or hear anyone.

The CSIs and the patrolmen all got out of their vehicles and began walking cautiously up to the door.

"Remember, we're just here looking for any evidence of Maggie Hayes," Calleigh reminded them. "We don't have a warrant and no one here is under any suspicion."

"Then why do you look so nervous?" Ryan mumbled teasingly, so only she could hear him.

"Do _you _like the looks of this place?" she whispered waspishly back at him.

Calleigh and Jesse led the way to the front door. When no one answered her knock, she pulled open the creaky door slowly and stepped over the cool, shadowy threshold. The two patrol officers followed them.

Ryan was about to follow them inside when he stopped. A man in a white t-shirt and jeans came out of a side door and was walking toward the back of the building, whistling and twiddling a wrench in his hands. He didn't see Ryan and obviously didn't even realize the police were there.

Ryan hesitated, looking at the door his colleagues had just went through. Every protocol he had ever learned was pounding in his ears; _never _leave the group, _never _go off on your own. But Ryan set off around the side of building anyway.

He laid a wary hand on his holstered gun as he walked. The building was about fifty yards long, overgrown grass brushing up against the dilapidated siding.

Ryan reached the back of the building.

The wall gave way to a wide-open, roofed garage. There were no walls or doors surrounding the dirt-floor garage, just a few columns to hold the roof up. Ryan stepped inside.

A rusted pickup truck that looked as if it had been there for fifty years blocked his view of the rest of the garage. He stepped around it.

Despite being rundown, it seemed like a perfectly functioning garage. Stacks of tires lined the walls. Endless buckets of various gauges and nuts were haphazardly strewn about. More toolkits than any one person could ever go through in a lifetime lay about idly.

A newer-looking red Pontiac was parked on the opposite side of the garage as the rusty truck, its hood propped open. The man was bent over the engine, working on something Ryan couldn't see.

Ryan suddenly heard Calleigh's voice reverberating through the whole building. "Hello?" she yelled. "MDPD, anyone here?"

Ryan watched from behind the man as he dropped the wrench in surprise. He stood there for a moment, like a sprinter getting ready to take off down the track.

He was going to bolt. Ryan knew he had to stop him.

"Excuse me!" Ryan called.

The man jumped and whipped around. He was in his mid-30s, with sloppy dark-blond hair and light brown eyes. Engine grease was all over his hands and clothes. He had stubble on his face and his complexion was sallow.

He sighed and grinned shakily at Ryan. "Dude, you scared the crap out of me," he said.

"Sorry," Ryan said. He held up his badge. "I'm with MDPD, can I ask you a few questions?"

The man began skittishly wiping the grease off his hands with a towel that was not much cleaner. "Sure thing. What about, officer?"

"A young woman went missing this afternoon just down the road from here," Ryan explained, watching the man carefully. "You know anything about that?"

The man frowned. "Tall? Curly brunette?"

Ryan's heart started beating faster. "That's right, how did you...?"

"She came into my garage this afternoon, couldn't have been more than five hours ago. She busted a tire on some glass just down the road. I patched her up and sent her on her way. She's missing?"

"What time did she leave here?" Ryan pressed.

"Um..." the man said. "Probably about 1:30?"

Something in Ryan's instinct began steadily ringing. A hollow feeling in his gut told him that something was really wrong here. As he stood watching the man wipe his hands and answer his questions, the feeling only grew. Small beads of sweat began springing up on his forehead, his heart thudding painfully against his ribcage.

He was looking at the kidnapper.

Casanova.

He just knew it. All he had to do was find a way to keep him here, keep him talking until the rest of the team got there. Without a warrant or evidence, Ryan couldn't legally arrest him, and no gut feeling would ever stand up in front of the state attorney. But a team of five could easily "persuade" a suspect to come in voluntarily.

"I'm gonna need you to come with me to PD and give a statement, we may need your account as a witness," Ryan said carefully, straining to show no signs of alarm or suspicion.

The man was hesitant, glancing quickly toward a door in the back wall of the garage, the direction from which Calleigh's voice had come. "Do I have to come right now? I promised I'd finish this tune-up before tomorrow..."

"It really has to be now," Ryan insisted. "Time is of the essence in kidnappings, and any information you may have could decide whether we find this woman dead or alive."

The man was still very wary of going anywhere with Ryan. He licked his lips. "Well, when you put it like that," he muttered. He put the towel down. "I'll just go get her receipt from this afternoon when I changed that tire for her. It'll have an exact time stamp on it for you guys."

Ryan clenched his jaw, not wanting this man to leave his sight. But he needed to keep up his act. He forced a smile onto his face and nodded. "That would help, thanks."

The man turned and walked briskly to small metal drawer unit nearby and started rummaging through papers inside. His back was to Ryan.

Ryan's hand drifted to his gun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Calleigh stepped over the threshold of the rundown building. She heard the footsteps of her multiple colleagues file in behind her.

The door led into a dimly lit hallway. The buzzing light above was half out and darkened with dead bugs and mysterious stains. The whole place smelled very musty and dank.

"Hello?" Calleigh called. "MDPD, anyone here?"

No one answered.

"Doesn't look like anyone's been here in a while," Jesse said quietly.

"I know, but why would the lights still be on?" Calleigh asked.

Jesse understood her reservation. "I got your back," he told her.

She nodded and took a few more steps forward. Yellowed fliers for cars and their parts were tacked to a bulletin board about halfway down the hall. She kept going, her senses crawling with discomfort.

She came to a door on the left side of the hallway. She looked at Jesse, who nodded and drew his gun, ready to cover her. Calleigh drew her weapon, took a breath and pulled open the door.

It was a filthy bathroom, the off-white toilet seat blackened with cigarette burns. Toilet paper littered the damp floor. Calleigh wrinkled her nose and closed the door again.

The small group continued down the dim hallway, Calleigh still in the lead. There wasn't much left to the building; Calleigh's heart began to pound as she neared the end of the hallway.

Another door stood at the end of the hallway. A concrete staircase led down and to the right.

Calleigh looked at Jesse, silently asking his opinion on which way to go. He reached toward the wall near the stairs and flicked on the light switch there. Another dim light flickered into being at the bottom of the stairs.

Something dark was smeared across the wall down there.

Calleigh and Jesse nodded to each other. Calleigh began descending first, her gun poised in front of her. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Calleigh bent in close to inspect the smear on the wall.

It was red.

"Do you smell that?" one of the patrol officers asked shakily.

Jesse met Calleigh's eyes. "Blood. Lots of it," he said.

A door was to their left. Calleigh opened it, holding her breath.

The room was dark inside. Calleigh flicked on the switch next to the door.

At first she thought the room was empty, then she gasped.

Blood splatters and smears freckled the cinderblock walls and concrete floors. A coppery wave of blood-stench engulfed them, forcing them all to hold their noses. Calleigh surveyed the room in horror, until she noticed the pile of rags in one corner of the room.

Or at least what she thought were rags.

"Maggie?" she cried, running over to the other side of the room. She knelt down beside the young woman, who was utterly still.

Calleigh felt for a pulse in her neck and listened for breathing, both of which she found.

"Maggie?" she called louder. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes!"

The young woman made no response. Calleigh gently swept a cascade of raucous brown curls from Maggie's face, revealing a black eye and a bloody nose. Her hair was matted with still-damp blood.

"We need to get her out of here right now," Calleigh ordered. "Fletcher, call a bus."

The patrol officer immediately took out a radio and called in the order for an ambulance to their location.

Calleigh looked at Jesse. "There's way too much blood in here to be just from Maggie," she said hurriedly. "This has to be where Casanova kept all of his victims."

"I'll call Horatio," Jesse said. "Let him know we found Casanova's hideout."

"Wait a second," Calleigh said suddenly. She looked around the room quickly and then back at Jesse.

"Where's Ryan?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Ryan's heart pounded so hard inside his chest, he half-expected the man to hear it. He silently slid his gun out of its holster while the man was still rummaging through the drawer and took a slow step toward the Pontiac, the hood still open.

The man seemed to finally find what he was looking for. He slid the drawer shut with a click, holding something in front of him that Ryan couldn't see.

Ryan's hand itched. He gripped his gun firmly, stealthily cocking it with a sweaty thumb, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Just in case.

It was a very good thing he did.

The man spun around in one lightning motion and fired the handgun he had pulled out of the drawer. Had Ryan still been in the same spot he had been in ten seconds ago, he would have been dead.

Ryan dove behind the Pontiac. He fired two return shots from behind the car. The man rolled away, taking refuge behind a stack of tires. Ryan ducked back down behind the car as the man fired again.

Ryan popped up quickly and fired once more. The bullet grazed the man's arm; he yowled in pain. He leveled the gun at Ryan's head and fired before Ryan could duck again.

There was a loud clang, followed by a bright flash and a deafening boom. Everything all at once went black.

(+)

"Where's Ryan?" Calleigh demanded.

As if to answer, the muffled sound of a gunshot suddenly erupted above them. The four police officers jumped up, all drawing their weapons in one motion.

"Fletcher, stay here!" Calleigh ordered as two more shots echoed above the concrete ceiling.

Jesse led the way back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Two more shots, much louder up here, blasted away upstairs as they ran. A man's pained yell followed the shots. Calleigh's heart froze at the sound, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't Ryan.

One more gunshot rang out as they reached the top of the stairs. An ear-splitting din followed the shot, a loud metallic noise and what sounded like an explosion.

Profound silence.

Jesse looked at Calleigh when they reached the door. She nodded, lifting her gun.

Jesse kicked the door open and he, Calleigh and the remaining patrol officer swarmed inside.

The front of a red car to the left was on fire. They didn't see anybody anywhere.

"Ryan?" Calleigh called, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

A car engine revved up somewhere outside the garage, the tires grinding against the dirt as the car sped away.

"Drake, go!" Calleigh ordered.

The patrol officer took off running outside and disappeared around the side of the building, chasing the car.

Jesse grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and raced to the burning car. He put out the flames quickly.

"Calleigh!" Jesse said sharply. He knelt down behind the car.

Calleigh followed, suddenly seeing what Jesse was running to: someone's foot was barely visible from behind the smoking car.

She made it around the car and her breath caught in her chest.

Ryan was on the ground, lying very still.

Jesse was kneeling over him, a hand on Ryan's shoulder, shaking him desperately. "Wolfe!" he yelled. "Wolfe!"

The skin on Ryan's face was red and raw, like a bad sunburn. Small, shiny pink burns were scattered around his face. The sensitive areas around his eyes were the worst; tiny blisters were already starting to spring up around them.

"What happened to him?" Calleigh choked.

"Wolfe!" Jesse yelled even louder. "Wake up! Open your eyes!"

Ryan stirred, a quiet moan issuing from his throat. His eyes almost opened when very suddenly he squeezed them tight again and began yelling at the top of his lungs.

A shocked Calleigh and Jesse were at a loss as to what to do as Ryan started violently writhing in agony, his hands pressed over his eyes, his screams getting louder and louder.

Jesse grabbed him, holding him down so he stopped rolling around, lying on his left side. "Wolfe, what's wrong?" he cried.

Ryan's response could barely be understood through his bellows. "Get it out, get it out!" he screamed.

Calleigh didn't understand. She felt tears of helplessness well up in her eyes. "Get what out, Ryan? What's wrong?"

Ryan couldn't answer coherently, his pain was too great.

Jesse suddenly looked at the car, then back at Ryan. Horrified comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, God!" he cried.

Jesse looked at Calleigh, his face pale. "Get water, now!" he ordered.

Calleigh practically leaped up from the ground, glancing desperately around the garage for any water. Finally she saw it: a hose lay coiled on the other side of the garage. She ran to it.

Jesse fought to keep Ryan calm as Calleigh fetched the hose. "Get your hands off your eyes!" he yelled, wrestling Ryan into a firm grip and clamping his arms down. Ryan's screams began quieting as he gave in to the pain.

"Stay with me, Wolfe," Jesse said roughly. "You're gonna be okay, just hold on."

Calleigh turned the spigot until a steady stream of water issued forth from the hose. She picked it up and hurriedly brought it back to Jesse.

He took it from her and put the water over Ryan's left eye, the water washing over it and flowing onto the ground.

"Wolfe, I need you to open your eye," Jesse told him sternly.

Ryan was too much in shock to understand.

Jesse looked at Calleigh. "I need you to get over here and hold his eye open so the water can get in," he said.

Calleigh complied, gently prying open Ryan's eye.

"Careful," Jesse said. "Try not to get any on you."

"What's going on?" Calleigh asked him shakily.

"Battery acid," Jesse answered, still focused on washing out Ryan's eye.

"What?" Calleigh breathed, horrified.

"Help me turn him."

Calleigh complied, helping Jesse to ease Ryan onto his right side. Ryan just let them, not having the will to fight anymore. Jesse then began repeating the washing in Ryan's right eye.

Jesse jerked his head toward the red car behind them. "Remember that explosion we heard? I think a bullet hit the battery of that car. If Wolfe was using it as cover, it would've blown up right in his face. Battery acid sprayed in his eyes."

Calleigh's jaw dropped in horror.

She leaned down close to Ryan's face as she gently held his eye open again so Jesse could wash it out. Her lips hovered just above his ear.

"Ryan," she whispered. "I know you're hurt and I know you're scared. But you have to hang on. Okay? Just hang on, we'll get you to the hospital."

Ryan slowly reached a shaking hand upward until he found her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Calleigh?" he whispered, exhaustion and pain etching every syllable.

"Yeah, Ryan," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "I'm here."

His face was suddenly terrified. He gripped her hand tightly.

"What is it, Ryan?" Calleigh cried, his grip on her hand making her bones creak.

"I can't see. I can't see anything."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Alexx held up her pen light in front of Ryan.

"Follow the light for me," she told him.

Ryan sighed shakily. "There is no light, Alexx."

Her silence was not reassuring.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

She took a moment to speak carefully before she answered. "Yeah, it's bad, baby. There's a chance the damage is permanent. But let's wait until your tests come back, okay?"

Ryan closed his ruined eyes and nodded slowly, a sick feeling washing over him.

Ryan knew Horatio was in the room somewhere. Calleigh had gone off with Jesse to check on Maggie Hayes, who had been brought in at the same time as Ryan.

He was propped up on a hospital bed; he kept a hand clamped on either side of it, trying to reassure himself that it was there. All he could see was a cloudy blackness. Shapes floated by, sometimes he even thought he saw patches of light, but they always drifted away again.

The pain in his eyes had been reduced to a dull ache; Jesse's quick action in the garage had done a lot to help ease it.

Ryan had never felt stranger in his life. When he had the nail in his eye, at least he could see, he still knew where he was and who was around him. Being blind was unthinkable to him. Even when an infection threatened to blind him years ago, he had never really believed it would happen. Now that it had, he felt utterly lost.

(+)

Horatio watched over his CSI as Alexx cared for him, running a few tests and scoping out the extent of the damage to his eyes. Ryan gazed around blankly, looking completely lost most of the time. It nearly broke Horatio's heart.

Ryan's eyes were a mess. The skin surrounding them was raw and irritated, burned and blistered where the acid drops had hit him. The whites of his eyes were no longer white; they were dark red with blood, speckled with black. His irises and pupils were clouded over. Horatio was secretly glad Ryan couldn't see himself; it was far too upsetting.

A young nurse poked her head in from the hallway.

"Dr. Woods?" she said. "His scans are back."

Alexx laid a gentle hand on Ryan's wrist. "I'll be right back, Ryan, I just have to go into the hall for a minute."

Ryan nodded vaguely, lost in his own darkness.

She left Ryan alone with Horatio, neither of whom spoke for a moment.

"Did they catch him, H?"

"Casanova had Maggie Hayes' Trailblazer parked outside the garage. Officer Drake chased him, got us the plates, but he got away, Mr. Wolfe."

Ryan sighed. "How's Maggie?"

"In a coma," Calleigh said, entering the room. "The blunt force trauma to the back of her head caused some intracranial swelling. If it goes down, she should be okay. But there's an equal chance that it won't, and she'll be in a persistent vegetative state. Her boyfriend is sitting with her. He wants to thank you, Ryan, by the way."

"Why, what'd I do?" he said bitterly.

"You kept Casanova from getting away clean," Calleigh explained gently. "Like you said, Casanova was going to bolt when he heard us come in. You stopped him. Now we have a lot more to work with to catch him, stop him from doing this to someone else. That's because of you, Ryan."

"I was stupid," he mumbled stormily.

She was quiet for a moment.

"Well, think of it this way," she told him. "We did a physical exam of Maggie Hayes. She hadn't been raped. We got there in time to at least spare her that. That's got to count for something, Ryan."

"Calleigh, has anyone besides you, Jesse and the boyfriend seen Miss Hayes?" Horatio suddenly asked.

She was thoughtful for a moment. "Just the doctors. Why?"

"I want to run this as if she died," he said.

She frowned. "All right. I'll put her in a private room and post a guard on her door."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Calleigh left, once again leaving Ryan alone with Horatio.

"You don't want Casanova coming around trying to get rid of our only witness," Ryan said knowingly.

"You are a witness too, Mr. Wolfe."

"Oh yeah, I'll be great witness. I'll have my seeing-eye dog pick him out of a lineup for me," Ryan muttered.

Horatio couldn't help but smirk. If Ryan could make jokes, there might just be hope for him after all.

Alexx returned shortly afterwards. Horatio was relieved to see she was smiling.

"Good news, baby," she told Ryan. "Your globes appear to be intact, meaning we can operate. We have to remove some debris embedded in your eye, but our eye specialist is optimistic that he can get it all."

"Will I be able to see again?" Ryan asked quietly.

"Average recovery time could be anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, but since the acid didn't penetrate very deep, I'd put you at about the three-week recovery rate," she said. "You may need prescription glasses or contacts from now on, but otherwise you'll be able to see."

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if his life had just been freely handed back to him.

"Your eyes will have to stay bandaged, at least during the day. You can take them off when you sleep. You'll need to get plenty of rest and take antibiotic drops three times a day. And you may also want to invest in some synthetic tear drops while you at it."

"I can't get my eyes to stop tearing, Alexx," Ryan remarked.

"Well, during your recovery, your eyes are going to get really dry because your corneal epithelium, the thin layer of skin over your cornea, is going to come off due to acid necrosis."

Ryan, ever the hypochondriac, felt a chill zip up his spine.

"Alexx, that's gross."

She smiled. "Just focus on the part where you get to see again, okay? The eye team will be down in a few minutes to take you up to surgery. Dr. Kellogg wants to starts within the hour."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Ryan stared off into the nothingness behind his eyes. He felt a slight breeze play across his face, heard the clattering roll of the gurney wheels as he was hauled off for surgery. The air smelled fake in here, he noticed.

The sounds all around him seemed amplified a hundred times. He heard every drip of the IV stuck in his arm, every word uttered by the doctors and nurses seemed so loud they may as well have been shouting.

He didn't like feeling helpless. Alone in his own little universe.

He jumped when he felt the gurney suddenly slam through the double doors. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath.

A soft hand gently grabbed his and held him tight. Ryan let out his breath shakily; Alexx always knew just what to do to make him feel safe. It had to be her mothering side.

"I gotcha, baby," she murmured, so only he could hear.

Horatio and Calleigh had to stay downstairs; only doctors, patients and families were allowed up in the surgery wing. They promised to check on him later. Ryan knew they would.

The gurney coasted to a stop. He heard and felt the doctors and nurses busily prepare for their upcoming task.

Alexx squeezed Ryan's hand and leaned in close. He could smell her lavender perfume; light and sweet, just like her.

"I have to go scrub, Ryan," she explained slowly and softly. "I'll be with you the whole time, okay?"

Ryan silently nodded and let go of her hand, feeling as if he was letting go of his last anchor to the visible world. Now he was truly alone in his darkness. His heart fluttered in a sudden wave of fear.

Ryan clenched his jaw until his teeth creaked. _Calm down, Ryan_, he thought forcibly to himself. _You can do this. Stop being such a baby._

He tightened his fist until his fingernails bit into his skin. _Relax._ He took in a long, deep breath through his nose, and let it out through his mouth. With the air went a great deal of his fear. He felt much calmer, braver.

He could beat this. He would see again.

"Officer Wolfe?" came a man's friendly voice from somewhere over his head. "My name is Dr. Allen, I'm your anesthesiologist. I'm going to give you something to relax you now, okay? Can you please count backwards from ten for me?"

_Here we go._

"Ten..."

The darkness swirled around him. Every fiber in him wanted to fear it again.

"Nine..."

Ryan bit back the fear. If he was going in beat the darkness, first he would have to embrace it.

"Eight..."

His voice felt thicker in his throat. The darkness closed in around him, flooding him, as if he was standing in an ocean of black and the tide was coming in.

"S-seven..."

His brain felt heavy. The darkness bore down on him, but Ryan stood fast.

He was in control of his own darkness.

"S-s-i..."

He drifted away.

(+)

At first everything was silent.

_Am I even awake?_

A soft, steady beeping gradually rose out of the velveteen darkness, as if he was hearing it through a thick pillow. It grew steadily louder as he rose up, up...

A phone was ringing somewhere down the hall. People talking, their footsteps echoing on tile floors. Everything seemed hushed, like when people talk near a sleeping child. Was he sleeping?

His brain was thick and fuzzy. Everything was confused inside. Questions of who am I, where am I spun around and around like an out-of-control carousel. What the hell happened?

A gunshot. A bright flash of light. Searing agony slapped across hazel eyes.

Darkness. Profound, all-encompassing, eternal darkness.

Ryan startled himself awake, as if someone had cracked a whip in his face.

The darkness was there waiting for him. It was no longer a mobile, cloudy mass. This darkness was total.

_Holy shit, I'm blind!_

The thought propelled Ryan into full wakefulness. His head shot up from the soft pillow it was on and immediately pain crashed through his skull. The beeps began racing with his heart, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Easy, Ryan!" Alexx's voice cried. Her hand latched onto his and he gripped it tight.

His brain was still too muffled for him to form words, he just lay there gasping in panic, his heart threatening to bust right out of his chest. He was too weak to fight Alexx as she pushed him back down on the bed.

"Calm down, baby," she urged him gently, checking his monitors to make sure he didn't rip out his IV in his panic. "You're okay now. You're safe."

_But it's so dark! _he thought to her, unable to say it. His throat was inhumanly dry.

"Ryan, listen to me," she murmured, stroking his hair. "You're gonna be fine, okay? The surgery went really well. Dr. Kellogg was able to get all of the debris out of your eyes. He said you should be fully recovered in a few weeks. You need to stay in the hospital tonight to get your antibiotics and post-op care, but then you can go home. And the bandages can stay off in two weeks."

_Bandages?_

Relief washed over him as if he was sinking into a hot bath. There were bandages over his eyes. That's why he couldn't see anything. That's why the darkness was still there. He let out the breath he had been holding shakily. His heart began quieting a little.

"There you go," Alexx coaxed. "Calm down, sweetie. You're okay."

_I'm okay._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Damn it, Walter, I can get out of the car myself!" Ryan snapped.

"Stop being such a crotchety old man!" Walter shot back.

"Am I gonna have to separate you two?" Jesse asked mildly, holding back a grin.

After Ryan was released from the hospital the next day, Horatio had ordered someone to stay with him for a few days, both as an assistant of sorts until he got re-used to the layout of his house and also as a sort of bodyguard in case Casanova got desperate to eliminate witnesses. A patrol car was also stationed at the end of the block.

Walter had volunteered to help Ryan out, and Jesse was thoroughly enjoying watching what ensued.

"Don't forget your walking stick, old man," Walter quipped, playfully shoving the aluminum rod into Ryan's hands.

Ryan huffily lowered the end of the stick until it touched the ground, using it to guide him as he walked. "I'm totally going to whack you with this when you're asleep," he muttered stormily.

"Dude, you can't aim when you can see," Walter retorted. "What makes you think you can hit me now?"

"I don't appreciate your insensitivity to my injury," he said haughtily.

"Yeah, keep it up and I may just give you another injury for me to be insensitive about!"

Ryan grinned and painstakingly began making his way to the stairs up to his front door.

Jesse turned to Walter, their faces serious.

"Be careful," Jesse said quietly. "Casanova's still out there. There's no telling what he might try if he thinks Wolfe's a potential threat."

Walter swallowed. "Yeah, I know. I'll keep eyes and ears open."

Jesse nodded, then clapped him on the arm. "Good luck," he said.

He turned to get back in the Hummer to go back to work. He looked back at Walter and grinned.

"Have fun!" he called.

Walter made a face at him, then waved as he drove away.

"A little hard for me to unlock the door when I can't see the keyhole!" Ryan called in a singsong voice. "Oh, babysitter?"

Walter sighed and hung his head in resignation.

(+)

Calleigh stood in the middle of the garage they were in yesterday. She looked at the disturbed patch of dirt near the burnt red car, cringingly remembering Ryan's screams as she and Jesse tried to help him. The hose was still lying where they had left it, a small trickle of water still leaking out of it.

"Jesse said Ryan's back home," Natalia said as she ducked under the crime scene tape to join Calleigh. "Walter's staying with him."

"Good," Calleigh said absent-mindedly.

Natalia noticed Calleigh wasn't paying very close attention. "Jesse's downstairs taking samples from that room you guys found, where you found Maggie Hayes."

"Uh-huh," Calleigh answered vaguely.

"He's okay, you know," Natalia said gently.

That startled Calleigh out of thoughts. "What?"

"Ryan," Natalia clarified. "He's okay now."

"Oh, I know," Calleigh said, returning her attention to the scene. "It was just scary, you know? I don't know what I would do if I went blind, even for a little while."

"Well, I'm just thankful the doctors were able to fix him up," Natalia said.

The two women continued searching the scene, looking for any evidence they could use to find the missing killer. It was a frustratingly fruitless task.

After an hour of looking for any identifying evidence, Natalia sighed in frustration.

"I can't help but think that no matter how much DNA or fingerprints we get on this guy, it's not gonna matter. He's not in the system."

"Well, when we do catch him, we'll have all this hard evidence just waiting to lock him up forever."

They kept looking. Calleigh walked toward the rusty truck on the other side of the garage. She stepped on something metallic with a loud crunch. She bent down and picked it up.

It was an old, rusty license plate. The back had completely blended in with the dirt. She would never have noticed it if she hadn't stepped on it.

Calleigh rubbed off some of the dirt and grime with a thumb. Letters and numbers of the plate slowly became visible. She bagged it to take back to the lab.

(+)

"Stewart Phelps?" Calleigh asked.

The man who answered the door frowned. He had dark blond hair and brown eyes. He was clean-shaven but he didn't look healthy to her for some reason. He stepped out his front door to face them, the screen door clanging shut behind him.

"No, Stewart's been dead for ten years," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "Who are you?"

Calleigh and Tripp flashed their badges in his face. He paled at the sight of them.

"We found Stewart's old license plate at a crime scene. This was the address filed with the plate number," Calleigh explained. "Did you know him?"

"I'm his son, Greg," the man choked. "What do you mean, you found it at a crime scene?"

"A garage off Hoffstead ringin' any bells?" Tripp asked.

"Yeah, my father owned a car repair stop out there for a long time," the man said quickly, sounding nervous.

"Have you been there recently?" Tripp inquired.

"Not in years," the man answered.

Calleigh's eyes weren't on the man's face. They were on his hands. Thick, black smudges speckled the insides of his fingers, as if he had more on them before, but did a haphazard job of washing it off.

"Could hold out your hands, please?" she asked suddenly.

Greg was startled into obedience.

Calleigh looked closely at the smudges, then produced a swab and took a sample.

"What are you doing?" Greg demanded sharply.

"You have engine grease on your hands, Mr. Phelps," she said, eyeing him like a hawk.

"I was tinkering with my car earlier," he said quickly.

"Yeah, yesterday in your daddy's old garage," Tripp snarled.

Greg's mouth opened and closed like a drowning fish.

"You're coming with us," Calleigh stated.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Don't make me sit on you, man."

"I can do it myself, Walter!"

"You missed five times before you finally got it last time," Walter pointed out. "Besides, I have the drops and I'm not giving them to you. Just let me do it so you don't have to refill your prescription ten times. Come on, lean back."

With much groaning and grumbling, Ryan finally surrendered, plopping down on his couch and tilting his head back. Walter unwrapped the bandages from around Ryan's eyes.

They were already looking much better. There was still a lot of dark red blood in the white areas, but it was already noticeably thinner. His pupils were still clouded over too, but it was nice to know that would go away in a few days, once the tissue began regenerating itself.

"Tilt your head farther back," Walter ordered.

"God, I've got the naggiest wife in the department!" Ryan cried, complying.

"That hurts, dude." Walter put a drop of antibiotics in each eye. "All done, you big baby," he said, rewrapping the bandages around Ryan's eyes.

Ryan was silent as Walter put his bandages back on for him.

"Thanks, Walter," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," Walter said automatically.

"No, really," Ryan pressed. "You don't have to be doing all this. I give you crap, but I really do appreciate not having to do this alone."

Walter smiled. He punched his friend lightly on the shoulder.

"You're gonna be okay, man," he said.

Ryan tried a half-smile, but it was half-hearted at best.

"You want some lunch?" Walter asked, hurriedly changing the subject.

Ryan grinned, leaning back and linked his hands behind his head. "Why, yes, I would like some lunch. Turkey sandwich on wheat with lettuce and tomato, easy on the mayo. Thanks, Walter."

"Oh, I'll make you a sandwich," Walter muttered, shaking his head as he shuffled off to the kitchen.

(+)

Calleigh sat across from Greg Phelps in interrogation, every instinct in her body screaming at her to pull her gun and end him. He was a monster. He raped. He killed. He deserved to die.

But right now, he honestly didn't look like what she expected Casanova to look like. She pictured a cringing, crawling little man who was more insect than human, a man that would whimper for mercy as soon as he was caught. But Greg Phelps looked fully prepared to go to battle with them.

Calleigh was secretly looking forward to the challenge.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Phelps?" she said coldly.

"'Cause you're a bitch looking for someone to blame for your PMS?" he retorted calmly.

"Hey!" Tripp barked, smacking him upside the head.

"You shouldn't do that," Greg said snidely, flattening his hair. "I'll file a complaint of police brutality."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, boy!" Tripp snarled.

"You rape and beat women," Calleigh growled.

"Not me, never," Greg said mildly, as if she had just accused him of getting a parking ticket.

"Well, deny it all you want," Calleigh said. "Your prints and DNA will prove otherwise."

Phelps put on a theatrically thoughtful face. "Hmmm... No, I don't think they will," he said.

Calleigh slapped down an empty ten card and a pad of ink. "Give me your hand," she ordered.

"Not so fast, blondie," he said. "I never gave you permission to take samples from me. And since I am not under arrest for anything, you can't make me."

"That's where you're wrong, pal," Tripp barked. "You are under arrest for the rape and murder of five women."

"A false charge," Greg sighed, as if Tripp was a child who was simply not getting something right. "My lawyer is going to tear you apart when he gets here. Until then you aren't getting my DNA and you're not getting my prints."

As if on cue, a balding, sour-looking fellow in a tweed suit bustled into the interrogation room.

"What is this?" he blustered, pointing at the ten-card and ink on the table. "Interrogating _and _printing my client without counsel present? I could have your badge for that. Harvey Wayne, Mr. Phelps' attorney."

"Calleigh Duquesne, CSI," she said unhappily. "Has your client explained the gravity of the charges against him right now? It would bode well for him to cooperate and maybe he won't get the needle."

"You've already passed judgment on my client!" the lawyer growled. "What kind of investigator are you? Do what you do and show me the evidence."

"Just have your client give us prints and DNA and if he is innocent, he'll be free to go," Calleigh said tightly.

"Right, so you can log his data away in your files and bring them up whenever you want someone to blame for a cold case? I think not."

"That's not how we do things, Mr. Wayne," Calleigh growled, barely restraining her anger with this pompous idiot.

"You can't find the real killer of these women, this man that you call Casanova, and you are desperate to put someone behind bars, and that person doesn't necessarily have to be guilty," the attorney accused her.

"If your client is innocent, what is the harm in volunteering his DNA?" Calleigh demanded, her blood coming to a boil.

"There is absolutely no evidence that my client was in that garage anytime recently. Even if there was, it was probably from when he worked there with his father when he was a teenager. Look, there is a very simple way to resolve this," Harvey said, leaning forward over the table impressively. "I was very sorry to hear that the last victim died. Margaret Hayes, was it?"

Calleigh nodded, secretly relieved. If Harvey thought Maggie was dead, as Horatio had wanted it to be known, so did Greg. She was still safe in the hospital for the time being.

"But I also heard that a police officer was injured in the pursuit of the real killer, who was in the garage yesterday. No one else saw the man?"

Calleigh nodded again, not liking where the lawyer was going with this.

"Well, simple then! Just have the officer come in and identify my client and you'll have your warrant for his DNA. I'll even submit it myself."

Calleigh's blood ran cold in fury. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tripp's hand tighten into a white-knuckled fist, his mouth a thin, tight line.

"Our officer can't see anything at the moment," she said tightly. "He just had eye surgery to fix the damage caused by a car battery exploding in his face."

Harvey put on a sympathetic face that didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, that's too bad," he simpered woefully.

Calleigh looked at Greg Phelps, her green eyes like daggers. "But I think you knew that already," she muttered murderously.

The tiniest hint of a smirk twitched at the corner of Greg's mouth.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Ryan sat in the chair in Horatio's office, alone. He had shooed Walter away to get caught up on the Casanova case. He felt weird being alone again. While having someone else around to be his eyes, he felt anchored to the world. He didn't feel so disconnected, apart.

He heard the door open and footsteps approached him.

"Mr. Wolfe," came Horatio's warm voice. "How're you doing?"

At first he didn't think Ryan would answer, seeing as it was a fairly rhetorical question.

"It's weird, H," Ryan said. "How well you think you know something, like your own home. But once you can't see anymore... It becomes this totally new place. I mean, when have you ever had to count the number of stairs, or memorize the exact number of steps you take to get somewhere? We rely on our eyes so much..."

There was a moment of silence.

"So...," Horatio said slowly. "You've been better, then?"

Ryan chuckled. "Yeah, H. I've been much better."

Horatio smiled. "You're doing fine, Mr. Wolfe. You'll be back with us soon enough."

"So, what can I do for you?" Ryan asked. "Walter said you needed my help with something."

"Mr. Wolfe, we believe we've caught Casanova."

Ryan's body went rigid. "Where is he?" he growled tightly.

"Down in interrogation," Horatio said quickly. "His lawyer is putting up a lot of barriers for us. He's blocking our warrant for DNA and prints."

"Check his arm," Ryan pressed. "A bullet of mine grazed him, he'll have the scratch."

"Calleigh tried. His lawyer has already argued that it happened when he brushed up against an exposed nail in his basement. At this point, everything we have is circumstantial. We may not be able to put him away without an eyewitness."

"Maggie Hayes," Ryan said simply.

"Miss Hayes is still in a coma," Horatio said sadly. "Mr. Phelps, our Casanova suspect, believes her to be dead, as we wanted. So at least she's safe for the time being."

Ryan sighed. "So we're sunk."

"Not yet, Mr. Wolfe. We still have you."

"H, what the hell good am I?" Ryan cried. "I can't even pick him out of a lineup!"

(+)

"Will this even hold up in court?" Ryan asked quietly, so Phelps' attorney couldn't hear him.

"Horatio seems to think so," Natalia whispered back, her hand on his arm, guiding him into the room.

"If there was any way this would work, this guy's lawyer would never have pegged his whole case on my inability to make an ID."

"He only knew you were injured from the news. And Phelps wouldn't have known what was specifically wrong with you, he ran from the scene too quickly. Either Wayne got hold of your medical records, or someone inside the department let it slip. They probably thought you were incapacitated or still in the hospital."

"How's he looking now?" Ryan asked her.

Natalia looked over at the lawyer, who was leaning against the two-way mirror, looking relaxed. But Natalia's sharp eyes saw the thin layer of sweat on his forehead and the way his lips had tightened, tension framing his body. She grinned wickedly.

"He looks like he's about to piss himself," she whispered savagely.

Ryan snorted. "That's reassuring, I guess."

Natalia looked at the lawyer again. He was now watching her, an odd look on his face. She could practically see the greasy, little wheels turning inside his head. She didn't like it.

The district attorney walked into the small room carrying a beat-up briefcase.

"Good, we're all here," he said. "Everyone know everyone? Good. Let's start, shall we?"

The district attorney walked up the intercom on the wall and pressed the small button there. "Bring them in."

A door opened on the other side of the mirror, and a line of six men, including Phelps, filed in.

"Officer Wolfe, if you could please join us right up here next to the glass," the DA said cordially.

Natalia guided Ryan forward until he was standing between Natalia and the DA. Wayne watched them sharply.

"You know the drill, Officer," the DA said. "I'll have them step forward one by one. They say the words we gave them and you tell us if you recognize anyone's voice."

"I still hold to my original protest," Wayne piped up from the corner. "This unorthodox method of identification is highly subjective and couldn't possibly..."

"We bear your argument in mind," the DA snapped. "I again assure you this modification is not unheard of. It has been used before in at least eighteen states when the witness was visually impaired."

Wayne held up his hands in mock surrender, looking on in indifference.

"Number One, please step forward," the DA said into the intercom.

The man in the first slot, a young police officer who worked in the evidence locker, stepped forward.

"Read, please."

He looked down at a small paper in his hands. "I'll go get her receipt from this afternoon when I changed the tire. It'll have a time stamp on it."

Ryan frowned. He thought he'd heard that voice before, but he wasn't sure where. It definitely wasn't the guy from the garage.

He shook his head.

The DA got back on the intercom. "You can step back. Number Two."

They repeated the process two more times. Each time Ryan shook his head; it wasn't the guy.

Then it was Phelps' turn. Natalia held her breath.

He read from a piece of paper, just like the other men had. "I'll go get her receipt from this afternoon when I changed the tire. It'll have a time stamp on it."

Ryan's heart picked up the instant the man uttered his first syllable. There was absolutely no doubt whatsoever in his mind. This was the guy. This was Casanova.

"That's him," he said.

"Are you sure?" the DA asked. "Maybe you should listen to the other two first..."

"I don't need to," Ryan said flatly. "That's him. I'm sure."

Natalia let out the breath she'd been holding.

(+)

The DA was waiting anxiously for Horatio when he got off the elevator. His agitated expression was not reassuring to Horatio.

Walter had taken Ryan back home a couple hours ago, and the rest of the team was relieved to finally have the Casanova case coming to an end. A frenzied phone call from the DA was not what Horatio had in mind as a good end to a long day.

"Mr. Quincy," Horatio said, standing next to the DA. "What's the big emergency?"

The DA jerked his head toward the exit. Harvey Wayne was there, filling out paperwork. Greg Phelps was standing next to him, apparently waiting. Horatio was shocked to see no handcuffs on him.

"Why isn't he in a cell, Mr. Quincy?"

"I tried to fight it, Lieutenant, but Wayne's got friends in high places..."

"I ask again, why isn't Greg Phelps on his way to prison right now?" Horatio said, his temper boiling.

"Wayne got the judge to throw out Ryan Wolfe's identification of Phelps," the DA explained quickly. "He says CSI Boa Vista signaled to him when Phelps was up."

"You don't actually believe..."

"It doesn't matter what I believe, Lieutenant," the DA said hotly. "It matters what a judge thinks, and even _allegedly_ coerced testimonies are automatically inadmissible, you know that."

Greg Phelps suddenly met Horatio's eyes from across from the room. He smiled and waved.

"The judge said Phelps could be brought back in once CSI Wolfe's sight returns completely and can make a more accurate ID," the DA said.

Horatio's cell phone began ringing.

"That could be _weeks_, Mr. Quincy," Horatio said, pulling the phone out of his pocket and holding it up to his ear. "And in that time, this monster will go right back out on the streets to murder. This is Horatio," he said into the phone.

"Well, get me some hard evidence and I will be more than happy to re-file," the DA said sourly.

"Thank you, Jesse," Horatio said, hanging up the phone. He looked at the DA. "We may have just caught a break, Mr. Quincy. Do whatever you can to keep Phelps here. I have to go to the hospital. Maggie Hayes is awake."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The first rumblings of thunder echoed softly in the dark grey sky above as Horatio drove to the hospital. He didn't like leaving things as they were at MDPD, and he pretty much could guarantee Quincy would be too concerned with himself to make much of an effort to stop Phelps from leaving.

It just meant Horatio would have to hurry. He flipped on the lights and sirens on the Hummer, speeding by the rest of the traffic.

(+)

"You're kidding," Walter said tonelessly, in utter disbelief. He looked around to see if Ryan was there, holding his cell phone up to his ear. "Phelps is _out_?"

"I wish I was," Natalia's voice said in the speaker. "But no, Phelps really got out."

"But Wolfe ID-d him!" Walter cried, keeping his voice down. He figured Ryan was upstairs in the bathroom or something.

"Well, Horatio just got a call from Jesse at the hospital. Maggie Hayes is awake. He's heading over there now to see if she can give us an ID."

"And then we can get our warrant."

"If we can find a judge to sign one this late in the day," she said tiredly.

"Okay," Walter said, taking a breath to steady himself. "So what does this mean for Wolfe?"

"Horatio seems to think he's all right for now. Tripp put tails on Phelps and his attorney as soon as they left, and he sent another unit to Ryan's block. You guys should be okay."

"What should I tell Wolfe?" he asked.

"I don't know. I mean, there's not really anything to tell," she said. "He's still safe and nothing has happened yet. What's the point of worrying him, you know?"

"Yeah, all right," Walter said hesitantly. He didn't like the thought of hiding something like this from Ryan, but Natalia had a point. "Thanks."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Walter rubbed his eyes with a tired hand.

(+)

Ryan stood at the top of the stairs, listening to Walter talk on the phone in a hushed voice. Obviously his friend didn't realize how easily his voice carried upstairs, or how ever since the accident, Ryan's hearing had been naturally enhanced along with his other remaining senses.

His mind buzzed with questions, the greatest of which was how Phelps got out. No doubt his slimy lawyer found a loophole.

For a moment, Ryan wondered if he should be worried. Walter certainly seemed to be. But surely if he wasn't safe, Horatio would have told him?

(+)

Horatio walked down the hallway quickly, making for the private room they had moved Maggie Hayes into. The patrol officer standing guard outside the door nodded to Horatio as he passed inside.

Jesse was standing near the window. He nodded to Horatio when he walked in. John Redding was sitting at Maggie's bedside, her hand in his. He looked incandescently happy to have his love back with him.

Maggie was propped up in bed, half-asleep. She looked a little pale and worn out, but otherwise healthy. She smiled at Horatio when he approached her bed.

"Miss Hayes," Horatio said softly, smiling back. "I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine. How are you feeling?"

"It's Maggie, please," she whispered. "They tell me I'm okay. John told me all about you, Lieutenant."

"It was because of John that we were able to find you," he said.

Maggie squeezed John's hand lovingly. He bent down and kissed her hand.

"Maggie, I need your help with something, and then I promise I'll leave you to your rest, okay?" Horatio said.

She nodded slightly. "How can I help?"

"We think we've caught the man who attacked you, but in order for us to arrest him, we need you to ID him for us. Can you look at some pictures?"

Her smile vanished. She swallowed. "Anything to screw that bastard," she whispered savagely.

Horatio gently spread a group of six pictures on her lap. John held her hand tightly as she picked them up one by one, examining each closely.

When she picked up Phelps' picture, her eyes narrowed and her chin quivered.

"That's him," she said, handing the photo to Horatio. "I'm sure. I'll never forget his face."

"This is our suspect," Horatio told her. "We'll be able to get a warrant with this."

She nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. For everything. And you can count on my testimony when this asshole goes to court."

"Thank you, Maggie," Horatio said. "Get some rest, okay?"

He went to leave and Jesse began to follow him out.

"Oh, Lieutenant!" Maggie called.

Horatio turned around.

"John told me when the police found me in the garage, that guy was there," she said. "And he hurt one of your officers before he got away. Is that true?"

"It's true, Maggie," he answered. "But I don't want you to worry about that, because the officer is gonna be just fine. Okay?"

She sighed in relief. "Oh, good. I'm glad he's okay."

"And he's glad you're okay," Horatio said, smiling.

She smiled back, and Horatio and Jesse left the room.

"Want me to stick around a little longer?" Jesse asked.

"Our killer and his lawyer both still think she's dead, so Maggie should be fine here for now," Horatio said. "I need you back at the lab with Calleigh. Be ready to analyze all of the DNA and fingerprint evidence from all five Casanova cases. I'll call you when I get our warrant."

"Got it, H," Jesse said. The two men started off walking down the hallway.

"Jesse, I want to put the nail in this guy's coffin before the sun goes down."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Rain hammered down on the roof. Lightning streaked to the ground in blinding flashes. Thunder crashed through the heavens so forcefully, it shook the entire house.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Ryan unwrapped the bandages from around his eyes slowly. Keeping his eyes closed, he bunched the wad of soft fabric into his fist and dropped it, sighing when he heard it miss the wastebasket. He leaned forward, hanging his head and gripping the cool porcelain of the sink in both hands. He opened his eyes and looked up at where he knew the mirror was.

Light.

Ryan blinked. He could see light. And color.

Despite himself, uttered a quiet cry of disbelief. He passed his hand over his eyes. The light disappeared, then came back when he moved his hand. The light was really there. It wasn't some trick of his mind. He was actually seeing it.

Ryan grinned.

All at once the light went out.

_Shit._

(+)

"Frank, how's the tailing going?" Horatio asked.

"Both units following Phelps and his attorney checked in about twenty minutes ago," Tripp said. "Wayne is having dinner with his wife and Phelps is on his couch watching TV."

"Good, thank you," Horatio said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I'm still trying to track down a judge to sign our warrant. They all go home at 5, but I've been calling clerks for an hour, trying to get someone's home phone number."

"Let me take care of that, you go home and rest," Tripp offered.

"Thank you, Frank, but I'm not leaving this case until Phelps is put away. Calleigh, Jesse and Natalia are all putting in overtime at CSI to process all of the Casanova evidence. All we need is a signature. I can't stop now that we're this close."

(+)

"I played with the fuse box, but it looks like there's something wrong with the whole power grid, not just us," Walter said, coming up from the basement with a flashlight. Ryan was sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He had left his bandages off for the night.

"The phone's out, too," Ryan said.

"It could take hours for the light to...," Walter stopped suddenly. He pointed the flashlight at Ryan's face and then moved it slowly from side to side.

Ryan's eyes followed the light.

"Can you see this?" Walter asked eagerly.

Ryan grinned. "Uh-huh."

"That's great, man! Your sight's coming back!"

"Yeah, I think so," Ryan said. "In fact, if you want to go home, I should be good from here."

"Ha, you're not getting rid of me that easy, man," Walter said. "So you can see a little bit of light. In case you haven't noticed, your power's out. Light's not gonna help you tonight. And the last thing we need is for you to survive this whole mess just to break your neck falling down the stairs. Got me?"

Ryan laughed. "I had to try."

"Yeah, whatever. Shouldn't you be going to bed soon?"

"Yes, mother."

(+)

Horatio Caine had been stupid to think he wouldn't notice the cop car following him home.

Greg Phelps lay on his couch in the dark, the TV turned up to cover the sound of the storm outside. He made sure he wasn't visible out the window, through which he was certain they were watching him. He had to be perfect.

Making sure not a single part of him appeared over the back of the couch, Greg rolled onto the floor. He belly-crawled like a snake toward his kitchen. He went through the doorway into his makeshift laundry room. The back door there wouldn't be visible from the street. They wouldn't see him get out. The storm would do the rest.

He had Maggie Hayes' Trailblazer parked in an empty lot nearly two miles away. He had stowed it out there after he used it to escape the garage. It had been worth the walk to keep that sort of incriminating evidence as far away from his house as possible. The CSIs had been idiots to stop looking for it once they had caught him, assuming it would be easy to put him away.

He hadn't thought he'd killed Maggie Hayes when he knocked her out for making that phone call. He must have hit harder than he meant to, but he had been so angry...

No matter now. She was dead. Meaning there was only one person left who was still a threat to him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Ryan lay in bed, staring up at his ceiling. He was completely lost in thought, his exhausted mind turning into an endless, smoky labyrinth, and yet sleep wouldn't come.

The thunderstorm raged outside ferociously, the wind whipping the trees around like rag dolls. One of the first things he had ever noticed about Florida was the uncommon amount of tempestuous weather, and he didn't even mean during hurricane season. It always seemed like a sunny day could instantly turn dark, rainy and even borderline apocalyptic.

Ryan didn't mind the weather so much. In fact, stormy days tended to be CSI's quieter days. He guessed even murder sometimes had to wait until the rain stopped.

That night, as he lay quietly under his warm sheets, safe and calm, he found himself having a sudden surge in appreciation for the storm raging away outside. Most people associated such storms with darkness, with scary shadows and even scarier noises. Something to be feared. Something to be hated.

But to Ryan, the storm brought him something more valuable at that moment than anything else. It brought him reassurance. It made him remember that the world was still there.

When he had first lost his sight, he had felt more lost than a castaway at sea. Instead of an endless, unbroken horizon of water and sky, he had endless darkness. Voices of people he knew floated by, but without being able to their faces, how could he be sure it was really them, that they were even there? How could he be sure any of it was there?

And as soon he was able to see a little bit of light at the end of his dark tunnel… the power goes out. Go figure.

But thanks to the storm, he was still treated to some light every few seconds. He waited, practically holding his breath between lightning flashes, his heart skipping a beat every time that blue-white flicker danced across the darkness.

He had left his window cracked open, not caring that raindrops splattered through the screen and onto his windowsill. He had stood with his hand there for a moment, feeling the cool wetness of the rain and the touch of the wind on his hand. The cold had lingered upon his skin as he climbed into bed.

The air pouring through the window was the freshest air he had ever tasted. It was thick with moisture, but cool and not oppressive like summer humidity. The smell of wet earth seemed to fill his whole body, bolstering his strength and relaxing him at the same time. The wind was strong enough that he felt a gust reach his face all the way from the window every so often, its touch softer and lighter than silk. The raindrops' pitter-patter blended with the soaring drones of distant thunder into a symphony of life that made his heart beat like a drum.

And then there was the lightning.

In that moment, he truly and deeply believed that he had never seen anything so beautiful.

In that moment, for the first time in what suddenly seemed like a lifetime, he felt whole.

(+)

He didn't like how deeply the chilling rain soaked his clothes and drenched his skin. He didn't like how the thunder made him jump every time, all the while sounding as if it were getting closer, as if it were chasing him. And above all, Greg Phelps hated the lightning. If he was out in the open during an unpredictable flash of bright light, he could be spotted by a neighbor or maybe one of the four cops he saw were watching the place. And then he could kiss his perfect escape goodbye.

He had to kill Ryan Wolfe, the only witness left in his case. Without witnesses, his lawyer would never let them take his DNA, and then he would be free to move on to a new state, a new herd of fresh victims to taste. But above all, he had to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. He had to maintain plausible deniability.

He saw the two patrol cars at each end of the block. Their presence only confirmed that he had the correct address. He was thankful for the utter lack of security on the Internet; all he had to do was type in a name and out came a practical map to the guy's house. The cops were all sitting in their cars, staying dry instead of walking their beats down the street. Lucky. He could slip by them easily now. He was suddenly thankful for the rain.

They should have known: Sometimes murder can't wait until the rain stops.

After one particularly bright flash of lightning, he broke cover, dashing toward the back door. He already knew the power was out; he had seen someone walk by holding a candle in the next house over. No electricity meant no alarms. Again, lucky. It was as if the universe wanted this to happen.

He used the screwdriver he'd brought from home to dislodge the doorknob and thereby unlock the door. The thunder disguised the sounds he made. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He quickly removed his soaked shoes, seeing that Wolfe had hardwood floors. He didn't want to be caught because someone heard his shoes squeak. The water flowed off of him to puddle onto the floor. He began making his way silently through the house, heading toward where he believed the living room was. Rain steadily dripped from his clothes, from his hair and splashed silently onto the floor.

He reached the living room, moving carefully so as not to bump anything in the dark. Suddenly he heard a sound over the muffled storm and froze.

Someone was snoring softly nearby.

No way. There was no way Wolfe was sleeping down here on the couch. That would make this way too easy. His luck was nowhere near that good.

Greg crept forward to peer over the back of the couch.

Some big, black guy was sleeping there. Damn. He wasn't expecting anyone to be inside the house other than Wolfe. Who was this guy, his bodyguard?

Greg sighed. Oh, well.

One more body wouldn't make a difference.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

A loud crash. Shattering glass. A man's choked yell.

Ryan shot up in bed, completely startled out of sleep, every nerve in his body buzzing. It took him a second to remember why he couldn't see anything. He sat there, gasping heavily, his heart in his throat. The storm was still raging outside.

Had he dreamed it?

As if to answer, another crash and the tinkering of broken glass erupted downstairs, followed by what sounded like the bellow of a wounded animal.

It was as if someone had dropped a block of ice into Ryan's stomach.

Walter.

He tore the covers off and practically leapt out of bed, staggering toward the door in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He silently made his way to the top of the stairs, keeping a hand on the wall to guide him.

Everything was silent downstairs.

A cold sweat prickled its way up out of his skin. His heart pounded almost painfully fast, his breathing shallow and shaky. All he could see in the darkness below were the intermittent blue flashes of lightning.

A chilling sound suddenly rose up from the darkness: A voice. A familiar one. But it wasn't Walter's .

"Ryan..." it called softly, playfully.

Ryan's stomach twisted. He pressed himself against the wall; his knees had gone all wobbly.

"Ryan... come out, Ryan..."

Ryan's mind raced. How did Phelps get in his house? Where were the cops that were supposed to be patrolling outside?

And what happened to Walter?

"Your friend isn't gonna save you, Ryan..." the voice taunted.

Ryan clenched his jaw, placing a shaking foot on the first stair. He had to find Walter. He had to go to his friend.

"Come out and play, Ryan..."

The voice fell silent, as if it had faded away to join with the darkness.

Ryan made his way carefully downstairs, keeping one hand on the wall. He finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. The hardwood was cool under his bare feet.

"Walter?" he called.

The only thing that answered him was a cruel bout of laughter from Phelps' bodiless voice.

"Walter, answer me," Ryan said louder, panic starting to seep in. "Wal..."

He broke off when his legs suddenly came out from underneath him as he slipped on a puddle of water. He was dumped on his back forcefully, the wind knocked out of him. His head and his elbow ached where they had slammed into the floor. Ryan put his hand out to push himself up.

His hand touched someone's arm.

With a jolt, he rolled onto his stomach and hauled himself across the floor, crawling closer to the person he had found in the dark. His hands found a shoulder, a back...

There was no doubt. It was Walter.

Ryan reached toward his neck to check for a pulse.

Someone grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him back, away from Walter. Ryan cried out and struggled, trying to kick his feet out of Phelps' hold.

He finally ripped himself loose, lashing out his right foot. He hooked it behind Phelps' left knee and yanked. A thud and a grunt told him Phelps had fallen. Ryan quickly scrambled to his feet.

All he could see of Phelps was a dark shadow advancing toward him. When the lightning flashed, he could vaguely see a bright red blur, what he assumed was Phelps' jacket. Ryan staggered backwards, trying to find some ground he could hold.

A fist crashed into his face. Ryan's blurry world reeled even more as he stumbled away from the blow. Phelps leapt forward and hit him again.

Ryan seized Phelps' shoulders and drove his knee into his gut. As he gasped from the strike, Ryan grabbed his head and shoved it forcefully behind him into the wall. He skipped away like a boxer.

Phelps knelt on all fours, trying to regain himself.

Ryan felt his fury burn away his fear. This bastard had raped and killed four women. He would have done the same to Maggie Hayes. He would do it again if he wasn't stopped. For all he knew, Walter was dead on his floor just a few feet away. He had to pay.

Ryan just wished he could _see_!

Pain shot through Ryan's foot as he took a step back. A sudden wetness near his heel told him he'd stepped on a piece of broken glass. He suddenly realized where he was; right next to the small table where he kept a lot of his picture frames. Walter must have struggled with Phelps and knocked them over.

That was the crash that woke him up. If it hadn't, Phelps could have easily slipped upstairs and murdered Ryan in his sleep. With a pang of guilt and worry for his friend, he realized Walter had saved his life. Hopefully it wouldn't be for nothing.

The shadows moved ahead of him, telling him Phelps was standing up.

Lightning flashed.

Another thud and a yelp of pain told him Phelps had just stubbed his toe on something.

Ryan suddenly realized that Phelps was almost as blind as he was in this darkness. And where the lightning helped Ryan, it only confused Phelps, tricking his eyes and making everything darker after the flash.

The darkness was Ryan's domain. But he couldn't hold out like this forever. If Walter was alive he might need a hospital, meaning Ryan had to end this quickly. He needed a weapon.

His gun was upstairs in his bedroom, on his nightstand. He cursed himself for not thinking to bring it downstairs with him. He would have to be unbelievably fast to get a shot off, and Phelps would have to be close, so Ryan could see either his silhouette or the red blur of his jacket. Most of all, he would need a massive dose of good luck.

He quickly grabbed both edges of the table and turned it over, putting it between himself and Phelps. With that, he ducked into the kitchen doorway.

He heard Phelps stagger after him. A crash and a loud curse announced Phelps tripping over the table, landing in a heap by Ryan's feet.

Ryan took off like a sprinter, hurdling over Phelps and the table. Shards of glass sliced into the sensitive skin on the bottoms of his feet. He gasped in pain, slipping on the water and his own blood, but he kept running toward the stairs.

Greg saw Ryan getting away from him. He snatched up the biggest and most jagged shard of glass he could see, not caring that its razor-sharp edge bit into his palm. It was almost six inches long. He leapt to his feet and chased after Ryan.

Ryan had made it up about three stairs when Phelps caught up with him. Phelps wrapped an iron-strong arm around his waist, latching himself onto his back and knocking him forward onto his hands and knees. Ryan snarled, trying to buck him off.

With a furious bellow, Phelps raised the piece of glass in his hand and shoved it into Ryan's right side, between his hip and his ribs.

Ryan screamed in agony as Phelps tore the shard out of his flesh and plunged it back in again and again. Hot blood poured out of the wounds, flooding onto his t-shirt.

A deafening roar sounded in his ears, and it wasn't thunder. All of his joints seemed to turn into water as his strength seeped out of him with his blood. He laid his head on the stair in front of him, gasping for air.

Phelps stabbed the glass into Ryan's back one more time, having lost count in his fury. It snapped after hitting one of his ribs; Phelps tossed aside the remaining piece. Ryan didn't even have the strength to yell again. His mouth opened in a silent scream of agony, his eyes squeezed shut. Phelps grinned savagely, relishing on his palm the feeling of the sticky, crimson flood pouring out of the man in front of him.

He leaned in close, until his lips were just above Ryan's ear. "Tell me how it feels, Ryan," he whispered.

Ryan didn't answer, barely clinging to consciousness, his knuckles white as he gripped the stair above him.

"Does it hurt?" Phelps asked quietly. He reached into his pocket. His fingers found the plastic cord he had used to strangle all five of his victims, as well as the big guy who had been sleeping on the couch. He pulled it out reverently, savoring the moment in which he would add the seventh death to his record. "Are you ready to die?"

Ryan's eyes snapped open.

With all the strength he had left, Ryan slammed his elbow into Phelps' nose, hearing it splinter beneath the blow. With a roar, Phelps fell back off of Ryan and tumbled down a few stairs, dazed. Blood poured out of his throbbing nose.

Ryan dragged himself up the stairs, trying desperately to reach his bedroom and his gun. He was rapidly losing feeling throughout his whole body. He'd already lost most motor control in his right leg, the stab wounds compromising his mobility on that side. His arms and shoulders creaked as he strained to continue hauling himself up the stairs. The shadows behind his eyes began to grow even blurrier. He could barely even see the lightning anymore.

As Ryan made it to the second-floor landing, Phelps recovered. He threw himself up the stairs after Ryan, brandishing the cord. He tackled him from the back again, both men grunting with the exertion. Ryan couldn't see Phelps toss the cord over his head. Phelps pulled the cord tight against Ryan's throat, cutting off his airway.

Lights exploded in front of Ryan's eyes, and they weren't lightning this time. He hacked and choked against the cord, scrabbling at his neck and Phelps' hands with his fingernails, but blood loss had already sapped most of his strength.

Ryan slammed his head backwards. It collided with Phelps' face. The blow forced him to loosen his grip on the cord. Ryan coughed violently, desperately trying to refill his lungs, but Phelps quickly pulled the cord tight again.

Ryan found himself giving up as the last of his strength left him.

Phelps leaned down to whisper in his ear again. "I win."

Lightning flashed.

_Fuck. You._

Ryan exploded off the ground, throwing himself backwards with inhuman strength. Phelps wasn't expecting it. The cord flew out of his hands. They were suddenly airborne.

Then they were falling, falling. Falling down the stairs.

Ryan's head cracked against the stair. He could hear and feel Phelps tumbling down the stairs with him, neither of them able to stop.

A loud crack and a molten blaze of pain shot through Ryan's wrist as it broke, caught between him and the stair. He was too weak to even feel it for long.

The loud crashing of the two men rolling head first down the stairs filled his ears. He heard another even louder crack, but he didn't feel any pain to go along with that one. He seemed to be falling forever.

Ryan and Phelps landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Phelps on his stomach and Ryan on his back. Pain temporarily shot through him when he hit the ground as the shard of glass still stuck in his back was pushed deeper into him.

Silence. The thunder and rain once more became the only thing he could hear.

Ryan lay on the floor, unable to move. He stared up into the darkness. Lightning still raced across it once in a while, but that was all he could see. Everything else was just black.

As far as he could tell, Phelps wasn't moving either.

He rasped for breath, his throat raw and half-shut from almost being strangled. His whole body shook from blood loss and adrenaline.

Ryan knew he couldn't hold on much longer.

"Walter..." he choked.

He didn't even know why the name had come out of his mouth. For all he knew, his friend was dead. Somewhere over there, just beyond his reach.

A different kind of darkness was spreading over his eyes. He felt as if he were sinking into the floor. His sightless eyes rolled up in his head.

"Walter..." he whispered.

The gentle darkness took him, and Ryan drifted away.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The first thing he noticed was the sounds of the thunderstorm outside. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on the floor on his stomach. His head throbbed as if someone was using his brain as a punching bag. His mind was addled with confusion.

_Why am I on the floor?_

He had been sleeping… There was a huge storm outside… Shadow. Breaking glass.

Someone had tried to kill him.

Walter gasped in a huge breath of air. He coughed violently, his throat raw and irritated. His throat ached horribly, his memory suddenly flooding back to him.

Phelps was there. He'd gotten into the house somehow. He had wrapped some sort of cord around Walter's neck and pulled it tight. He had awoken as soon as his air supply had been cut off.

Walter had somehow thrown him off once, getting up to fight. But his mind was still reeling from sleep and the sudden lack of oxygen, and Phelps had been able to get the cord around his neck again. Walter had flailed as strongly as he could, knocking things over and trying mightily to get it off, but even his size hadn't helped him, especially once the oxygen depletion had started effecting his mind and muscles.

Walter was lucky he had such a thick neck.

He would certainly have suffocated if Phelps had kept up the strangling, but he must have stopped once Walter fell unconscious. Just like with Rachel Pope, he hadn't realized Walter wasn't dead yet.

Ryan.

The sudden thought of his friend brought Walter fully around, although he was still having some trouble making his limbs move. He coughed some more, trying to shove more air into his lungs.

Where was Ryan? Where was Phelps, for that matter? He didn't…

Walter finally forced his head up a few inches. He could barely see anything in the dark. He squeezed his eyes shut a few times and opened them again, trying to force them into focusing.

He saw the water on the floor next to him, most likely tracked in by Phelps. The puddle had been disturbed, as if someone had slipped in it. He looked toward the kitchen.

His eyes were more accustomed to the dark now. He saw the overturned table. He frowned; he hadn't knocked that over, just the picture frames on top. He saw those on the ground, along with all the shattered glass that had exploded from them when they hit the floor.

Walter painstakingly pushed himself off the floor onto his hands and knees, his head still aching. He looked toward the table again.

There was some sort of liquid near the glass shards on the floor. A lightning bolt suddenly illuminated it.

It was red.

Walter broke out in a cold sweat. His breath came in shallow gasps as he panicked. Whose blood was that? Could it be…

Ryan's?

Walter pulled himself up, using the couch to steady himself. He had to find Ryan. Phelps had come here to kill _him_, not Walter. He couldn't hear anything aside from the storm. Walter's heart constricted inside, sending his imagination into overload.

Ryan couldn't see anything. He wouldn't be able to defend himself. Tears welled up in his eyes as Walter thought about it. He had failed his friend. He had failed to protect him just when he needed him the most.

He _had _to find him.

Walter turned, facing the stairs, meaning to start his search up in Ryan's room, the last place he knew Ryan was.

His heart froze. There were two bodies at the foot of the stairs.

"Ryan!" Walter cried, running over.

The first body was Phelps. He was lying on his stomach, his eyes wide open and glassy. His head was turned at a weird angle.

Walter knelt down to feel for a pulse.

There was none.

With a jolt, Walter realized what happened. They had fallen down the stairs. Phelps had broken his neck in the fall. He would have died instantly.

Walter looked past Phelps at the body next to him.

The tears welled up in his eyes again as he slowly crawled on his hands and knees toward his motionless friend. Ryan was very still as he lay on the floor, his eyes closed.

Walter almost didn't want to feel for a pulse, but he made himself do it anyway. With a surge of relief, he felt one, but it was very weak for some reason.

Walter hurriedly checked his breathing. It was shallow and raspy. Then Walter suddenly noticed the small pool of blood collecting under Ryan's body.

He gently rolled him on his left side. Ryan let out a small moan.

The sound nearly broke Walter's heart. "I know," he said soothingly. "I know it hurts, man, but I've got to look."

Walter lifted up Ryan's torn, blood-soaked t-shirt to reveal the multiple stab wounds, including the one that still had the glass sticking out of it, all of which were still steadily oozing. His breath caught in his chest. He shook his head in horror and disbelief.

"Damn," he growled.

"Walter?" Ryan's voice was barely audible.

Walter laid his friend gently back the way he was. As easily as he could, he picked his friend up in his arms and sat with his back against the wall, cradling him. Ryan shivered from blood loss; his skin was cold, all of his body heat spent. Walter was surprised when a single tear escaped his eye as he looked down at Ryan.

"I'm here, Ryan," he said.

Ryan opened his eyes. Walter could see they were still clouded over and a thin film of blood was still present. His heart ached; his friend looked so small in his arms.

"Are you… okay?" Ryan whispered. Each word seemed like an impossible task for him.

"Yeah, man, I'm okay."

Ryan's sightless eyes were full of relief. "I thought… you… were dead."

"We have to get you to a hospital."

Ryan's eyes widened fearfully. "Phelps?" he choked.

"He's dead, man. You got him, don't worry."

"I'm… dying… too."

"No, you're not," Walter said flatly, forcefully. "No. You're. Not."

Ryan tried to grin. "You're a… good friend… Walter."

Walter could tell he was fading fast. He had to move. Now. But he didn't have a phone in reach…

Ryan closed his eyes.

"Ryan, stay with me."

He didn't respond, simply lying there shivering in his friend's protective arms. Ryan coughed wetly, gasping for air.

Walter suddenly remembered the patrol cars outside. They could get Ryan to a hospital the fastest.

He just had to bring Ryan to them.

"Ryan, listen to me," Walter said, positioning his arms under Ryan's shoulders and legs. "I need to get you outside to the patrol cars. They'll get you to the hospital. But I need you to stay awake. Just stay awake, okay?"

At first he was afraid Ryan had slipped away again.

"Okay," came his small voice.

"All right, then. Just hang on. This might hurt a little."

With his eyes still closed, Ryan reached his unhurt hand up and gripped Walter's shirt tightly in his fist.

Walter took a deep breath, then stood.

Ryan let out a gasp of pain as the movement aggravated the stab wounds and his broken left wrist. He gripped Walter's shirt tighter in his other hand.

Walter's muscles strained under Ryan's weight, but it was manageable for a man his size. He took one step, then another, each one coming easier than the last.

"Hold on, Ryan."

Ryan just coughed again, shivering harder.

Walter reached the front door. With a quiet curse, Walter stopped. How was he supposed to open the door?

As if he had read Walter's mind, Ryan let go of his shirt. With his eyes still closed, his head resting on Walter's shoulder, Ryan began groping for the deadbolt with a shaking hand. His trembling fingers finally found it. He turned it slowly, as if it weighed a hundred pounds, finally hearing the click. Then Ryan fumbled for the doorknob.

His hand slipped off when he tried to turn it. Walter stepped closer, making it easier for him. Ryan tried again, finally succeeding in turning it all the way and pulling open the door slightly. His hand dropped, exhausted.

Walter wedged his foot in the door and pulled it open the rest of the way, his arms starting to get tired from carrying his friend. Ryan coughed again. It sounded like it was getting harder for him to breathe.

Ryan reached up once more to hold on to Walter's shirt, but his grip was nowhere near as strong as it had been before. Walter had to hurry.

"Here we go, man," he said quietly.

Walter stepped out into the rain. Thunder exploded above their heads as Walter carried Ryan down the stairs and headed for the street. They were both soaked within seconds.

Walter's feet splashed in the water gathered on the ground. He looked left and right. The latter patrol car was closer.

Walter stepped out into the street and started walking toward the car.

"Hey!" he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the storm. The car was barely visible without its lights on, and it was still pretty far down the street. Walter doubted they could see him, either.

Ryan's hand that was gripping his shirt suddenly let go, falling limply to his side.

"Ryan? Ryan, wake up!" Walter cried.

No response.

The patrol car's headlights suddenly snapped on and the engine started.

"Damn it, Wolfe, come on!" Walter yelled even louder. "Stay with me!"

The patrol car lurched forward, accelerating toward them. Walter kept walking toward it.

"Ryan, please don't die!"

The patrol car reached them and both officers jumped out, looking stricken.

"What the hell happened?" the driver cried.

"Multiple stab wounds and airway damage," Walter told them. "Open the back!"

The driver complied. Walter awkwardly climbed inside, still holding Ryan.

"I need one of you to stay here," Walter ordered. "There's a DB inside. No time to explain, we need to get him to a hospital _now_."

The officer that had gotten out of the passenger's side hurried toward Ryan's house. The driver got back in, turning on the lights and the sirens, then slammed on the gas. The car skidded forward in the rain and took off down the street.

The officer driving picked up his radio to inform dispatch of the situation and to warn the hospital they were coming.

Walter sat in the back, Ryan still in his arms.

"Don't die on me, man," he said quietly. "You hear me? Just hold on a little longer."

Ryan made no sign of response. He just continued shivering harder than ever, now that he was soaking wet on top of everything else. His breathing kept coming in rapid, shallow rasps.

Walter held him tighter, rubbing Ryan's arm, trying to keep him as warm as possible, talking to him quietly the whole way.

"Come on, Ryan, _please_. Hang in there. We'll be there soon. Just stay with me. I got you now, man. Just hold on."

"I got you."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Horatio surveyed his exhausted team standing around the glass table. The night shift had let them have this one layout room so they could continue working on the Casanova case. Calleigh, Jesse and Natalia had all stayed late without being asked, making sure every detail was organized.

They wanted to be ready to close this case the moment they finally got their warrant. After hours of phone calls, Horatio had finally tracked down a judge that was willing to sign… first thing in the morning. Horatio was forced to take what he could get, and he fully planned to be at the courthouse at 7 a.m. on the dot, when Judge Michaels usually got there.

Until then, he and his three remaining CSIs were staying up all night in preparation. It was almost 3 a.m.

Natalia rubbed her dry eyes tiredly. She hadn't pulled an all-nighter since college. She was on her second cup of coffee of the night, her nerves buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine. She couldn't wait for this nightmare to be over.

Jesse read the same document for about the fifth time, practically memorizing its contents. His heart kept him fueled with freshly pumped hatred for Casanova. What that monster did to those women… it only reminded him of his wife and his as of yet unattained revenge.

Calleigh kept quiet as she analyzed her share of the evidence, trying to instill a sense of cool confidence in the atmosphere for her team. She didn't like that Phelps had gotten out for the night. She knew he was Casanova. A monster like that shouldn't be allowed out because of a technicality. She couldn't wait to toss him back in again.

The silence was deep in the layout room, the air thick with tension.

A patrol officer suddenly burst in, her face lined with anxiety. She was breathing hard, as if she had just sprinted up a few flights of stairs.

"Lieutenant Caine!"

Horatio looked at her in surprise and alarm. "Officer Forrest, what's wrong?"

"My captain sent me to find you, sir," she explained quickly in between breaths. "He said it's an emergency."

A horrible foreboding shadow crept over him. The other three watched her, on edge, listening hard.

"What happened?"

"Dispatch got a call from Unit 54," she told them. "Officer down."

Horatio's stomach went cold. "Unit 54 was watching CSI Wolfe's house."

She nodded. "Unit 54 said they were bringing one of your CSIs to the hospital. They said he's in bad shape. And they said something about a DB on scene, too."

Natalia's mouth dropped open.

Jesse stiffened. "Wait," he said tightly. "Who's dead?"

Officer Forrest looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry, they didn't say."

"Horatio, Walter was staying with Ryan…"

"I know, Jesse," Horatio said. "I'll go to the hospital and call you when I know what's going on."

"We're coming, too!" Natalia cried.

"Someone needs to go process the scene…," Horatio began, hating what he was saying but knowing it had to be done.

The three fell silent. None of them wanted to be the one to go. None of them wanted to be the first to find out if that dead body was one of their friends. And yet they had to know.

Calleigh knew Jesse was close to Walter, and Natalia was closer to Ryan than she was. And as the unnamed second-in-command at the lab, it was her responsibility to put on a brave face and shoulder the burden.

Calleigh took a breath. "I'll do it."

Natalia and Jesse looked at her gratefully.

Horatio nodded. "Thank you, Calleigh."

Without further discussion, Horatio hurried from the room. Jesse followed close behind. Natalia hesitated, then put a hand on Calleigh's shoulder. Her soft brown eyes looked ready to overflow with tears.

"Thanks, Cal," she said quietly. "You'll probably get to the scene before we get to the hospital, so… Can you, um… Call me? When you… when you know… who?"

Calleigh patted Natalia's hand gently, reassuringly, and nodded.

Natalia disappeared into the hallway, following the other two.

Calleigh looked at Officer Forrest, who was standing in the doorway looking as if she didn't know what to do with herself.

"What's your first name, Forrest?"

"Kayla, ma'am."

Calleigh smiled at her sadly. "Do yourself a favor, Kayla. Don't leave patrol."

(+)

Alexx was startled awake by her pager. She opened one bleary eye to peer at the little device, alight and beeping. Her husband rolled over next to her.

She snatched the pager off her nightstand and squinted at the number. It was the hospital. She sighed exasperatedly.

"I'm not on tonight!" she groaned at it.

Nevertheless, she put it down and picked up the phone next to her bed. She flicked on the lamp so she could see the numbers. Her husband moaned and pulled the covers over his eyes to shut out the light.

Alexx dialed the hospital's number and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Emergency, how can I help you?" said the receptionist's voice.

"Yeah, this is Dr. Alexx Woods, someone paged me?" she said sleepily.

"One moment, Doctor."

Alexx sighed again as she waited to be transferred. This had better be good.

"Dr. Woods? It's Dr. Knight." Her voice sounded strained.

"I'm not on call tonight, Dr. Knight," Alexx said shortly, annoyed at being woken up on her night off. _Residents_.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Dr. Woods," she said. "But a trauma patient just rolled up, and it says on his chart that you treated him two days ago?"

Alexx frowned. "What's the name of the patient?"

"Ryan Wolfe? He's a police officer, you gave him an optical work-up after he was involved in some sort of explosion?"

Alexx sat up in bed, fully awake.

"What kind of trauma?" she demanded.

"He just came in, we're working him up. He's in hemorrhagic shock, it's pretty bad."

"I'll be there in five minutes," Alexx said, hanging up.

She leapt out of bed and hurriedly began changing out of her pajamas.

Her husband sat up, looking at her drowsily.

"What's goin' on, babe?"

"I have to go to work. I don't know when I'll be home." She hurried over to his side of the bed and kissed him. "If I'm not back by the time the kids get up, make sure they get breakfast and make the bus, okay?"

"Everything all right?"

"No," she answered, rushing out the door.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Calleigh's stomach clenched tighter and tighter the closer she got to Ryan's house. She was dreading being the first to find out what exactly happened that night, but the others were counting on her to warn them of what they were about to find at the hospital.

She parked her car outside. The rain had slowed to a steady, light shower. The thunder was moving away as the wind carried the storm. Another unit of patrol officers had already arrived to secure a perimeter around the scene.

Calleigh took her kit in one hand, taking a deep breath. She walked slowly toward the front door, as if she was walking through a dream.

There was blood on the front door threshold, in the form of gravitational droplets. Judging by the directionality of the drops, whoever was bleeding was heading outside. With a pang, Calleigh realized it must belong to whichever CSI was rushed to the hospital.

She stepped inside into the dark. She took out her flashlight. The officer left behind from Unit 54 was standing a few feet in front of her.

"Why are the lights off?" she asked him.

"Power's out, ma'am," he said. "County's working on getting it back."

Calleigh's heart twisted. Ryan was blind in the daylight. If he was attacked in the dark, he stood even less of a chance.

"He's over there, ma'am," he said, pointing toward the stairs with his flashlight.

Calleigh swallowed hard. She took a hesitant step in that direction.

_Here we go_.

She slowly walked toward the stairs. The lumpy silhouette of a body lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she pointed her flashlight toward it.

The beam of light hit a hand.

A white hand.

Calleigh was hit with a tidal wave of emotion.

_Ryan_.

Her chin quivered, tears welling up in her eyes against her will. She dropped the flashlight to her side, unable to look at the pale hand anymore.

Of course she and Ryan had butted heads plenty in the past. When he first started, she hadn't liked him very much. He seemed far too likely to put himself and his own ambition before the team, often trying to boost his status with Horatio and looking to keep the glory for himself.

But then again, she thought with a twist of guilt, it was no wonder he'd tried his hardest to impress everyone. The team was still reeling from Speed's death. No one wanted to move on, no one wanted to replace him. Ryan could never replace him, in their eyes. He'd never tried to replace him, he just tried to do his job to the best of his ability, and they had resented him for it.

She remembered his first day. Her father thought he'd killed someone when he drove home drunk the night before and had come to Calleigh for help. And what did Horatio do? He put the new guy on the case.

Calleigh couldn't believe her ears when Horatio said he was putting his faith in a green, fresh-off-patrol newbie. How could he make such a gamble when her father's life was on the line? Boy, did she stay on Ryan that day, watching him like a hawk. He told her he just wanted the truth, that he wasn't interested in proving himself. No way did she believe that.

And then there was the incident at the crime scene. With the alligator. While she was reaching for her gun, Ryan was completely calm. Even as he tossed his sandwich into the gator's mouth and walked toward it to retrieve the murder weapon, he was steadfast and methodical.

He was brave.

As she thought about it, she realized Ryan was one of the bravest people she knew.

He'd been shot in the eye with a nail gun. For a lot of people, that would have been a great time to take a vacation and some nice monetary compensation from the department. But not Ryan. He'd been back to work as soon as he was deemed fit by his doctor.

He'd been kidnapped and tortured by the Russian mob. A little boy, the son of his friend, was held hostage to make Ryan do what they wanted. He had been alone in his battle with them, unwilling to put the boy at risk. Calleigh had known something was wrong with him that day. Not for a second did she buy the whole dentistry story he fed her when she asked about his cut lip and missing tooth. She had assumed he was back to gambling, even when he denied it. And she had dismissed him when he tried to explain to her and Eric why he did what he did. He must have felt so alone then. And still he kept it together.

He'd been in an explosion with Natalia, who had told Calleigh all about it later. He had stayed with her, trying desperately to free her from under the debris, even though the door was right there and she had told him to leave her. And he had been in how many fires now with Calleigh? At least two. And he had looked out for her in both.

And now this. Calleigh thought she would have gone crazy if she had lost her sight for even a little while. And if it hadn't been for Ryan, Casanova would have gotten away clean. If it hadn't been for Phelps' lawyer, they would have put him away forever.

And now Ryan was once again the one who paid for it.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

The officer's voice startled her out of her thoughts. How long had she been standing there?

"Ma'am?"

"I'm fine," she said tightly.

"Never gets any easier, does it?" he said knowingly.

She shook her head. _Understatement_.

"Well, think of it this way," he said. "This son of a bitch attacked two cops. Tore up one of them pretty bad, too, he was bleeding all over the place."

_Wait. What?_

Calleigh immediately pointed her flashlight back toward the body. She saw the hand again. This time she followed it to the rest of the body. She saw a red jacket, blonde hair...

Blonde hair. Calleigh gasped in relief and surprise. Ryan had brown hair. _It's not Ryan_. Her knees felt weak with relief. With another jolt, she recognized the body.

It was Greg Phelps.

She turned to the officer. "What happened here?" she demanded.

He was surprised by her sudden change of tone.

"This guy slipped around our security perimeter and broke in," he reported hurriedly. "We didn't know anything had happened until your CSIs came out."

"Came out?"

"The big guy came walking out to us, carrying the other one, the one that lives here," he said.

Calleigh's heart started pounding. "Carrying him...?"

"Yeah," he said. "He was bleeding pretty bad. The big one said something about stab wounds? Then he jumped into our squad car and my partner drove them to the hospital. I stayed behind to guard the scene 'til you got here."

"Excuse me," she said, putting her kit down and taking out her cell phone as she walked back toward the front door.

(+)

Natalia's heart stopped when her phone rang. She clenched her jaw and swallowed when she saw it was Calleigh calling. She was riding with Jesse to the hospital; Horatio was in his own Hummer ahead of them. They were still another minute from the hospital

She picked up the phone with a shaking hand. "Calleigh?"

"Nat, the dead body is Greg Phelps."

"Phelps? What..."

"He broke in and attacked Ryan and Walter."

"Then who's...?"

"Ryan."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay in updates, yesterday was my day off from work :). A girl needs a break once in a while! I know the last two chapters were kind of slow and you're all clamoring to know what's going to happen to Ryan. Don't worry, I promise I'll pick it back up with him in the next chapter (which I'm hoping to have out tonight, tomorrow afternoon at the latest). I had to do some reorganizing and planning for this story. I was originally going to end this story a while back, without Ryan being stabbed and just having Walter waking him up after he fell down the stairs. But then I realized it just wouldn't be one of my fics without extensive hospital drama ;). Get ready, 'cause in the next chapter, it's goin' down.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Officer Wolfe, can you hear me?"

Walter hurried alongside the gurney as the doctors and nurses pushed Ryan to an empty trauma room. His friend was ghostly pale, the sheet under him stained red with the blood still flowing out of the stab wounds in his side and back. He had stopped shivering, which Walter took to be a bad sign.

"Officer Wolfe, open your eyes!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait outside," a nurse said, placing a hand on Walter's chest when he tried to follow them inside.

Walter opened his mouth to argue, but the nurse turned on her heel and went into the trauma room before he could say anything. He stood outside the door, helplessly watching through the window.

Inside, alarms started blaring from each machine as soon as they hooked Ryan up to them. Everyone called out their findings to each other as the team worked to save their patient.

"BP is 80/50!"

"Resps are quick and shallow. Good breath sounds bilaterally, but I hear some fluid in the lungs."

"Wasn't this guy in here two days ago seeing Dr. Woods?"

"Pulse is weak and thready. He's tachy at 190."

"Somebody page Dr. Woods!"

"Do you want to intubate?"

"Not unless he stops breathing on his own."

"No response to painful stimuli!"

"He's lost a lot of blood, looks like almost half his volume. He's in shock, hang four units of O-neg on the rapid infuser!"

Walter watched, his heart racing. This was bad. Very bad. He'd never seen anyone hurt like this before. He didn't know what to do. He should've fought Phelps harder, he should have protected Ryan…

The thoughts racing around in his mind made his head spin. His throat felt like it was closing up in his panic. He was hit with a wracking coughing fit, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't stop.

"Sir, are you okay?" said a passing nurse.

He couldn't answer, the coughs were too violent.

"Here, sit down," she said concernedly.

He let her guide him to a chair. He felt as if he were coughing up a lung.

"Joyce, can I get some albuterol down here?"

The other nurse came with the requested medicine. She carried a blue plastic tube emitting white mist.

"Here, breathe into this. Big, deep breaths," she said soothingly, handing Walter the tube.

He obeyed, putting one end of the tube in his mouth, trying to relax.

Joyce's eyes narrowed as she frowned, placing a hand on Walter's shoulder. She gently prodded the ring of bruising around his neck. He winced.

"Sir, how did this happen?"

"Guy tried to strangle me," he gasped.

"Looks like he almost succeeded, too."

(+)

The seconds felt like hours to Walter as he sat outside the trauma room, still breathing through the tube to help his throat and lungs relax. He could hear yelling and all sorts of machine noises inside the room, but the nurse made him stay seated. She had wanted to admit him for observation and put him in a room, but Walter had flat-out refused to leave his friend.

Alexx suddenly burst through the entrance doors and hurried toward the trauma rooms. She looked around, trying to figure out which one Ryan would be in, and then she saw Walter sitting outside of one, looking lost. She hurried toward him.

"How is he?" she asked, looking into the room.

Walter could only shake his head.

Alexx entered the trauma room. "Give me the bullet, Dr. Knight," she called over the din of machine alarms.

"Grade 4 hemorrhagic shock," the younger doctor answered. "We've got two units in and two more on board, but there's a bleeder somewhere, I'm thinking renal artery. There are seven stab wounds to the right back and side; one's still got a shard of glass in it. He's hypotensive and unresponsive to verbal or painful stimuli. Pulse is weak and thready and he's having trouble breathing."

A cold grip of fear squeezed Alexx's heart. None of what Dr. Knight had told her was good.

(+)

"Walter!"

He looked up, startled. Horatio, Natalia and Jesse hurried toward him. A powerful wave of emotion washed over him. He was so relieved to no longer be alone.

Natalia sat next to him as Jesse put a hand on his shoulder, both looking very worried about him. Horatio stood in front of the trauma room door, looking through the window.

"What happened?" Natalia asked.

Walter put his albuterol down. "Phelps got in the house," he explained breathlessly. "I was sleeping. He tried to strangle me. I passed out. When I came to, Phelps was dead and Ryan was on the floor…"

He had to stop. The memory of finding his friend half-dead at the bottom of the stairs was too much.

Natalia put a comforting hand on his arm.

"I carried him out to the patrol car and he drove us here," he finished.

"You did good, man," Jesse said quietly.

Walter shook his head. He covered his face with hands, leaning forward exhaustedly with his elbows on his knees. Natalia rubbed his back soothingly.

Jesse looked up at Horatio. "What's going on in there?" he asked him.

Horatio didn't answer. He just continued to stare, stone-faced, into the trauma room.

Inside, Alexx saw Horatio watching. She quickly excused herself and left the room.

The CSIs all gathered around her when she came out.

"How's he doing?" Natalia said.

They all seemed to be holding their breath.

"It's not good," Alexx said heavily, fighting the tears that wanted to well up in her eyes. "He's lost a lot of blood. He's in progressive shock and decompensating."

"What does that mean?" Jesse asked.

"It means if we can't get the blood transfusions into him fast enough, he'll go into refractory shock," she explained. "That's irreversible. It means the vital organs will fail along with extensive brain damage due to lack of oxygen. Death will occur within hours if not minutes."

Her words sent a chill blasting through all of them.

"But you're giving him blood," Natalia said, almost pleadingly. "And we can give him more, we'll all donate…"

"The problem is that one or more of the stab wounds appear to have hit major blood vessels. He's bleeding out as well as into his abdominal cavity. He's losing it faster than we can give it. Judging by the position of some of the wounds, it's likely that his kidney had been damaged, and they may have to remove it."

A dead silence followed.

"He'll need surgery," she said quietly. "It's touch and go right now."

Dr. Knight burst out of the trauma room.

"Dr. Woods? He's awake," she said.

"I'll be right back," Alexx promised them, hurrying back into the trauma room.

Alexx hastened to Ryan's side, standing by his head. His clouded eyes were barely open. She leaned down close to him, gently pushing his wet hair off his forehead, and took his limp hand in hers. It was frighteningly cold.

"Hey, baby," she said softly.

A small light seemed to spring up in his eyes as he recognized her voice.

"…Alexx…," he whispered, barely audible. His voice was muffled by the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. He sounded earnest about something.

Alexx took off the mask so he could speak. "I'm here, honey."

Every word for him was an immense struggle. "…Do…me…favor…?"

"Anything, Ryan."

"…Tell… Walter…"

She couldn't hear the rest; his voice was getting quieter with each word. Alexx leaned in closer, her ear right over his mouth.

"What, baby? Tell Walter what?"

Ryan took a weak gasp of air.

"…Not…his…fault…"

Alexx stroked his hair, tears falling from her eyes. "Don't worry, baby, I'll tell him," she whispered. "I'll tell him."

He barely managed to give her a small nod, satisfied. Then he turned his clouded eyes upward, where a bright white light shone above the gurney.

A weak half-grin appeared on his pale face for a moment as he lay there gazing up at the light.

Then his eyes closed.

"Ryan?" Alexx asked.

No response.

"Ryan?" she said louder.

A loud, manic beeping suddenly erupted from the heart monitor.

"He's in v-tach!"

"Get the crash cart!"

Alexx leaned in close to Ryan's face again, the tears flowing freely from her eyes. She placed her left hand on the right side of his face and continued stroking his damp hair with her right hand.

"Come on, Ryan," she said softly. "Come back to us, baby."

A nurse handed Dr. Knight the shock paddles.

"Charge to 300," she ordered. The machine beeped. "Clear!"

Reluctantly, Alexx let go of Ryan, taking a step back.

Dr. Knight delivered the shock to his chest. His still form jerked.

"No change," a nurse reported.

"Charge to 360. Clear!"

Another shock.

Still no response.

Alexx looked toward the door. The sight of Horatio and his team looking on helplessly from behind the glass was terrible. The look on Walter's face was particularly heartbreaking.

"One more time, 360. Clear!"


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Dr. Knight placed the paddles on Ryan's chest one more time, then triggered the machine.

Everyone looked at the heart monitor, holding their breath.

"Normal sinus rhythm," a nurse reported, relief flooding her voice. "He's back."

Alexx let out a shaky breath. _That's it, baby_, she thought to him. _Stay with us, now. Stay tough_.

"Someone find that damn bleeder and tie it off!" Dr. Knight barked. "And get surgery down here to take this guy up!"

Alexx looked at the door. The CSI team was still watching intently like four statues. Alexx caught Horatio's eye and nodded.

He nodded back.

(+)

"Joanie, I need more suction, I can't see a damn thing in here."

"We're getting down to where the glass shard is. I think I see it…"

"Dr. Bell, his sats are dropping."

"Squeeze in two more units."

"We're out."

"Well, call the blood bank and get some more! Sean, can you see the glass fragment?"

"Yes, I think I… Oh, God."

"What is it? More suction, Joanie!"

"The glass… It's lodged in his inferior vena cava."

"What?"

"We have to be quick, Harry. Once we pull it out, he could bleed out if we don't clamp it immediately."

"Damn it…"

"Everyone, get ready. This is gonna get really messy."

"Make that four more units from the blood bank, Sarah! Before we do this, let's check, Sean."

"Three of the wounds were minor, nothing major hit. Two punctured his kidney, sewed that up and we shouldn't have to remove it. One perforated his renal artery, but we got it under control. That's all of them, right?"

"Now we just have this mother to deal with…"

"It'll be okay, he's young and strong."

"Yeah, and he's been bleeding out for two hours!"

"Calm down, Harry! I need you here. We can do this. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"Okay. Give me the clamp. On my count, you remove the glass."

"...I'm ready."

"One…two…three!"

"Whoa!"

"Damn it, damn it! Suction!"

"Oh, my God…"

"I got my hand on it… Damn, I can't see anything."

"BP's down to 70/40, pulse 200!"

"We're losing him!"

"V-tach!"

"Charge the paddles!"

"Almost got it… Got it clamped, go!"

"Clear!"

"Still in v-tach!"

"Charge again. Clear!"

"Asystole!"

"God damn it, come on! Starting chest compressions, run in 5 mgs atropine!"

"Shocking again. Clear!"

"Still no pulse, resuming compressions."

"There're a lot of people here for this guy. They're out in chairs. Someone should go talk to them, prepare them...?"

"I'll do it."

"You want epi?"

"Yeah, 5 mgs."

"I still got nothing on the monitor. Flat-line."

"Sean..."

"Come on, give the epi a chance to work!"

"He's gone, Sean..."

"Don't give up yet, Harry. A few more minutes..."

"He was dead before they gave him to us, Sean."

"...Harry, he's a cop."

"... All right, one more round of epi, 5 mgs. Charge the paddles again."

"There. The vena cava's closed up. I'm taking the clamp off."

"Clear!"

(+)

Ryan opened his eyes.

He was lying on a rather comfortable hospital bed. Outside the window, the sky was the grey-tinged blue of just before dawn. The lights were off in this room, but there were plenty of lights on in the hallway.

How did he get here? Why was he here? And where was everybody else?

Ryan sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the cool tile floor. He stood and walked to the door.

There was no one in the hallway, but he suddenly heard a phone ring to his left. He padded quickly that way, his bare feet making no noise on the floor.

He came to what must have been a waiting room. It was empty, save for a small group of people sitting near the window.

It was his team.

A wave of relief washed over Ryan. They hadn't left him alone, they were just waiting. He walked toward them, but they didn't seem to notice him approaching.

Two people suddenly exited the elevator and walked toward the team. It was Calleigh and Eric. Calleigh hugged Alexx.

"How is he?" Calleigh asked. "We got here as soon as we could, it took the night-shift people forever to come cover me at the scene."

Alexx tried to smile at her, but her chin quivered and tears were in her eyes. "He's fighting, honey."

Ryan frowned. Who was hurt? He quickly scanned the group. Everyone seemed to be there, except Tripp. Was he okay?

The elevator opened again and Tripp stepped off, looking as if he'd just woken up. "Thanks for calling me," Tripp said. "What's going on?"

"He's still in surgery, Frank," Horatio answered quietly.

"How bad is it?" Tripp asked.

The silence was enough of an answer.

Now Ryan was scared. Surgery? He didn't understand. He didn't remember anyone from CSI getting hurt bad enough to need surgery. What was going on here?

Ryan looked around at the team, panic rising in his chest. His eyes suddenly found Walter.

His friend looked terrible. He was exhausted and shaky, his head in his hands as he sat between Jesse and Natalia. His neck was bruised. There was blood all over his pants and shirt.

Ryan's thudded painfully in his chest, something in his mind clicking.

A doctor in surgeon scrubs suddenly came into view from behind a door across the room. A sign over it said "Authorized Personnel Only."

He pulled his bloodstained gloves off and tossed them in a biohazard trash can. He had a grim look on his face as he slowly walked toward the team. They all watched him approach warily.

"I'm Dr. Barnes, I'm with the team working on your colleague now, Officers," he said.

"How is he?" Eric asked tensely.

Ryan noticed only Walter wasn't watching the doctor, his head still in his hands.

The doctor took a deep breath, as if carefully choosing his next words. "We were able to suture most of the lacerations. Six of the seven were reparable."

He paused.

Natalia looked nauseous. "And the seventh?" she asked quietly.

He sighed. "That was the one with the glass fragment still in it. It lodged in his inferior vena cava, the large vein in the abdomen. The glass blocked most of the bleeding, but when we pulled it out... he started bleeding out and his heart stopped."

Calleigh put her hands over her mouth and leaned against Eric. He put his arm around her, his face like stone.

"We're shocking him and giving him intravenous medicine, trying to get it going again. But I have to warn you, the likelihood of that is very low. Right now, he has about a 90% chance of mortality."

"Oh, God," Jesse whispered.

Alexx turned away from the doctor, tears pouring down her face as she put a hand over her mouth.

"We're doing everything we can," he said somberly. "I have to go now, but I will come back as soon as I know something, okay?"

"Thank you, Doctor," Horatio said tightly.

Dr. Barnes nodded and walked away.

Ryan stood there, his mouth gone completely dry. It couldn't be...

Was he dead?

Everything suddenly came crashing back to him. An explosion, darkness, blindness, a thunderstorm, an attack, pain, choking, falling, bleeding, dying...

_Holy shit, I'm dead!_

"I remember this case five years ago," Calleigh suddenly said quietly. Everyone looked at her. "There was a shooting in the emergency room between some gang bangers? There was this young mother and her baby girl there. Ryan took care of them, especially the baby. He was so sweet with them. Even when the mother turned out to be the nanny that had kidnapped her from a neglectful mom. He took care of that baby as if she was his own."

Those members of the team that had been around back then smiled, remembering. Eric kissed Calleigh's head and rubbed her arm soothingly.

Ryan looked around at all the faces. They were all sad, frightened.

Natalia looked ready to throw up and Jesse looked ready to kill someone. Calleigh and Eric held each other close, as a single tear dripped down her face and he tried to stay strong for the both of them. Tripp's face was confused, as if he couldn't understand why or how this was all happening. Alexx kept her back turned to everyone else, hiding her face as she fought to stem the flow of tears from her brown eyes.

Horatio stood like a statue, his face unreadable. He stood with his team, and yet he was apart from them. Ryan remembered everything Horatio had done for him, from giving him the job he loved so much to putting everything on the line to help him keep it. He was like a father to Ryan. And judging by the look in Horatio's tormented blue eyes, Ryan got the feeling that it was mutual.

Walter looked like all he wanted was to crawl into a dark hole and die. Ryan's heart broke at the sight of it. He knew that no matter what anyone else tried to tell him, Walter would always blame himself for Ryan's death. Ryan couldn't bear to think of his friend living like that. It would destroy him.

Ryan couldn't let that happen.

He was still needed. His team, his family, needed him. Future victims needed him. His friends needed him. He wasn't _done _yet!

_I'm not ready to die!_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

A beep.

The surgical team all stood frozen, staring at the heart monitor in utter disbelief.

"N-normal sinus rhythm," a nurse gasped.

"No _freaking _way…," Dr. Bell whispered.

They were all so mesmerized by the heart monitor that every last person in the operating room jumped when the door opened to admit Dr. Barnes.

"I just talked to his friends," he said, absent-mindedly pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. "I swear, it's almost worse with cops. They understand a little too well, it's sad…"

He suddenly noticed everyone was staring at him. "What?"

Dr. Bell shook himself. "We need to close. Sean, can you help me check the field? Let's make sure it's clean and all bleeders are sealed."

Dr. Barnes frowned and looked at the screens. The light on the heart monitor was steadily going up and down in time with a normal rhythm. He let out a small cry of excitement and bewilderment. "You got him back?" he cried.

Dr. Bell shook his baffled head. "Hell if I know how," he said. "Someone up there must like this guy, 'cause he was _dead_."

"Let's just hope that he can survive any post-op complications."

"And that he's not brain dead."

(+)

Alexx stood with Dr. Bell and Dr. Barnes in the far corner of the waiting room, her heart pounding. She barely dared to hope that Ryan would be okay. As a doctor, she knew all about what could and probably would go wrong.

Blood clots, reperfusion injury, ischemia, tissue necrosis, pulmonary embolism, brain cell death, heart muscle damage... The possibilities all swirled around her mind sickeningly.

Drs. Bell and Barnes had already filled in the team about Ryan, who was being settled in the surgical intensive care unit. Despite what the doctors had said about Ryan still not having much of a chance at a full recovery, the CSI team couldn't help but be a little relieved. He may still have a lot of danger ahead of him, but at least he was still alive.

"So, what's next?" she asked them hesitantly.

"We're moving him to the SICU. We put him on a hydrogen sulfide drip to help with any reperfusion issues, and his oxygen levels are increasing on the ventilator," Dr. Barnes said.

"But?" she said, knowing that wasn't all.

Dr. Bell sighed. "We don't know the extent of cell death in his brain from the lack of oxygen during his cardiac arrest. Because we don't know exactly how long he was bleeding out for, we can't measure it. In his current condition, he's highly susceptible to stroke. There's a chance he's brain dead."

Alexx looked at the floor and nodded.

"It's a waiting game for now," he said. "There's nothing else we can do at the moment."

"Maybe there is," Alexx said suddenly. "What about hypothermia?"

Dr. Bell frowned. "That treatment is still in its trial phase. It's a long way from being used in a fragile case like this…"

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Alexx pressed. "Therapeutic hypothermia could buy crucial time for his brain and tissue to recover. And it'll help protect against reperfusion injury _and _blood clots."

The two other doctors looked doubtful.

"The therapy only takes 24 hours," Alexx continued. "And then you can test for higher brain function. Please. The studies done have shown that cardiac arrest patients put into a hypothermic state within two hours of spontaneous return of circulation are more than 50% percent more likely to have a full recovery."

The two other doctors glanced at each other.

"Look," Alexx said quietly. "You don't know this kid. Or his team. I do. Believe me, he at _least_ deserves a chance."

Dr. Bell shrugged, looking at Dr. Barnes. "Neuro has the hypothermic padding and machine upstairs. They can spare it for a day."

Dr. Barnes hesitated, then nodded.

"Thank you," Alexx said whole-heartedly.

(+)

"Natalia?"

Jesse's voice startled her awake. She looked up at him blearily from her unnecessarily uncomfortable chair. "What time is it?" she asked thickly.

"Almost six," he said, holding out a cup of coffee.

She took it gratefully. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

"I can," Jesse said. "They said we can see him now."

Natalia stood up hurriedly, fully awake. The team was starting to move from the waiting room, Alexx leading them down the hallway toward the SICU.

Natalia and Jesse went to follow, then stopped.

Walter hadn't moved from his chair, his eyes red and staring off into nowhere. He looked utterly lost.

Natalia and Jesse looked at each other. Natalia stepped forward hesitantly and put a hand on Walter's shoulder. He wouldn't look at her.

"Come on, Walter," she said quietly. "Let's go see Ryan."

"I can't," he mumbled.

"Yes, you can," she said. "All you have to do is get up and come with us."

"It was my fault, I should have been keeping an eye on things better..." he insisted.

"Walter, this wasn't your fault," she told him. "You were there for Ryan when he needed you. You got him to the hospital. You almost _died_ protecting him!"

Walter just shook his head.

"Hold this, please," Jesse said, handing Natalia his coffee. She took it, curious.

Jesse leaned down in front of Walter until his face was level with his. He put his left hand on Walter's right shoulder.

And then he slapped him.

Natalia jumped at the sound. It wasn't a particularly hard blow, it just took both Natalia and Walter by surprise.

Walter looked into Jesse's eyes, bewildered. Jesse said nothing, only raised his eyebrows at him. Natalia stared at the two of them, watching the silent exchange taking place in front of her. After a few moments of simply staring each other down, Walter nodded slowly. Jesse nodded and straightened, smiling sadly. Walter stood up and, without a word to either of them, walked past them to follow the group.

Jesse took his coffee back from Natalia.

"What just happened?" she asked, utterly baffled.

"He just needed a little help snapping out of it," he said simply.

She stared at him, open-mouthed.

He shrugged.

(+)

Eric couldn't take his eyes off Ryan. He looked so small, so... lifeless.

The team was grouped around his bedside, listening to Alexx explain what was going on and how this was supposed to help Ryan get better, but Eric was barely listening to her.

His friend was lying very still on a pure white bed, but there were no blankets covering him. He wasn't wearing a hospital gown, either, only what looked like a pair of black shorts. Instead, thick blue pads were strapped to his bare chest, abdomen and legs. Long, rubber hoses were attached to the pads and connected them to a machine standing next to his bed.

There was a tube down Ryan's throat, connected to a respirator. Eric remembered when he'd had one of those down his throat, or at least he thought he did. He'd been in a heavily concussed state at the time, from when he'd crashed his car in the glades. Still, he remembered vaguely feeling people around him, hearing their soothing voices urging him to fight.

He just hoped Ryan could feel them there now.

Ryan's skin was almost pale grey from blood loss and the cold. His left wrist was in a cast. A purple ring of bruises was starting to darken around his neck. Eric saw the bandages wrapped around his feet from where he'd stepped on the glass. Alexx had told them the doctors had removed a lot little glass splinters from the bottom of Ryan's feet.

_That must have hurt like a bitch_, he thought with a pang.

He absent-mindedly shook his head in sorrow as he stood with Calleigh, an arm wrapped supportively around her waist.

Eric had never felt so alone as when Speed had died. And right when the wound was still fresh, Horatio goes and hires this pain-in-the-ass little suck-up. God, Eric really hated Ryan for a while. No way could that little punk ever take Speed's place.

And yet, despite himself, Eric had started to like Ryan after a while. He was a funny kid, totally OCD, but it only made him better at his job. And despite their plentiful disagreements, they had always been there for each other when they needed it the most.

He remembered driving like a maniac down the highway, Ryan screaming his head off in the front seat, a nail sticking out of his eye. Eric was scared that day, more scared then he'd been in a long time. He didn't know if Ryan would make it, the nail could have hit his brain for all he knew. But Ryan had come through.

And then Eric had been shot. He didn't remember pretty much any of it, but Calleigh had told him a lot about what happened. Ryan had been by his bedside then. She had told Eric later about what happened when they finally found the shooter, the security guard. She said if the patrol officer in the room with them hadn't restrained Ryan so fast, he would have definitely kicked the ever-living crap out of the guy.

That was Ryan. Loyal to a fault. He kept his guard up around just about everybody, but Eric knew he cared deeply about his job and his team, and that he'd do anything for them.

He didn't deserve this. Judging by what Calleigh had told him about the state of Ryan's home, he'd put up one hell of a fight against Phelps, even though he was blind. Eric was bitterly satisfied that Ryan had at least managed to kill the son of a bitch.

Eric had been in Ryan's place. He knew what dying felt like. He understood the confusion, the pain that comes with it. He knew how hard it was to keep fighting.

_Fight it, man_, he thought pleadingly to his friend. _Don't give up. We're here if you need us. Just stay strong._

(+)

"The machine will cool the padding until we get Ryan's body temperature down to where we want it, around 32 degrees Celsius," Alexx explained. "We gave him some Demerol to keep him from shivering. He'll need to be closely monitored for the next 24 hours because hypothermia can cause heart arrhythmia and increase the risk of infection."

"And this is gonna help?" Natalia asked quietly, almost pleadingly.

"I think so," Alexx assured her. "The decreased temperature will help keep his intracranial pressure down, which is essential in warding off strokes. And it decreases his body's need for oxygen. This could buy him precious hours of recovery time. In a few hours, we'll slowly start to warm him back up again."

"And then...?" Horatio asked.

Alexx chewed on her lip. "And then we'll test him for higher brain function," she answered softly.

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Test how?" Calleigh asked quietly.

Alexx's eyes were sorrowful. "We'll disconnect the respirator. If he doesn't take any spontaneous breaths within ten seconds..."

She didn't need to finish. They all understood. A heavy silence fell over the group. The only sound in the room was the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor and the soft whoosh of air passing through the ventilator.

They would know in a day.

In 24 hours, they would know if their friend would ever come back to them.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hope you're all enjoying my story! I actually didn't make up most of the medical stuff in this chapter, it's all (at times loosely :P) based on real medical research I dug up. Therapeutic hypothermia is real and it is being used in cases like this, if I'm understanding the articles correctly. In case my descriptions were insufficient or you're just curious as to what it looks like, I posted a URL to a picture of it on my profile, since they won't let me post links here. A million thanks for all the reviews, love you all!


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"I'm not leaving, H."

"Walter, you need rest. You need food, you need to change..."

"I said no, H."

Horatio sighed. "None of us want to leave him, Walter. But you need to take care of yourself. IAB needs to talk to you anyway. The faster you do all that, the sooner you can come back."

"What if something happens while we're all gone?" Walter demanded. "What if he wakes up and he's all alone?"

There was a pause.

"Walter..." Horatio said quietly.

Walter rubbed his eyes exhaustedly. There would be no arguing with Horatio on this one.

Ryan was still in the hypothermic bed, lying very still. Walter didn't like how when he took his hand, it felt like ice. He could barely feel his friend's pulse in his wrist. He knew the heart monitor was picking it up just fine, but sometimes Walter just needed that assurance of feeling warm life being steadily pumped through Ryan's veins.

It was almost 8 a.m. Alexx had to go downstairs to work, but she had promised to check on Ryan at least every hour. The CSI team also had to go to work. They had all wanted to sit at Ryan's bedside, but Horatio had known the people of Miami needed them. There were other victims to help, other killers to catch. It killed him to shoo them away from their friend's side, but he knew there was nothing anything of them could do for Ryan anyway. Not until the next morning, when he would be tested. He'd already promised them visiting times when they could duck out of work and come back for a while.

Walter was the exception. Understandably, he was given some vacation time to recover from almost being strangled. He hadn't slept or eaten since getting to the hospital, and he was still in his clothes soaked in Ryan's blood. He hadn't left his side the whole time.

And now Horatio was telling him he had to?

"Alexx will be around," Horatio said quietly. "We'll all be back throughout the day. You can stay as long as you want, but you need to deal with IAB first. I'll make them keep it quick, I promise."

After a long time, Walter finally nodded, then stood. Both of them took one last, long look at Ryan, then walked out together.

"I'll drive you home," Horatio said. "And then we'll head back to PD. There's just one thing I have to do first."

"I'll wait downstairs," Walter mumbled.

They went their separate ways, Walter to the parking lot and Horatio to the recovery wing. There was someone he had to visit.

(+)

Maggie Hayes was sitting up in bed, gazing tiredly at the pink roses on her windowsill. She smiled. John knew they were her favorite.

He'd gone out to see if he couldn't smuggle in some pancakes for her breakfast; they were both pretty sick of hospital food. She lay in her room, alone, but felt perfectly safe knowing there was still a police officer stationed outside her door.

Someone knocked lightly on her door, then entered. She smiled when she saw it was Lieutenant Horatio Caine.

"Lieutenant!" she said cheerfully. "Nice to see you again."

He smiled at her. "You as well, Maggie. How are you feeling?"

She shrugged lightly. "Tired. Desperate for a pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni, but otherwise okay."

"Good to hear."

"How'd it go with the guy?" she asked seriously. "The one I picked out for you?"

"Well," Horatio sighed. "That is actually what I came to talk to you about."

She frowned, sitting up a little straighter in bed. "Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly," he said, taking a seat next to her bed. "I'm here to tell you that the man who attacked you, Greg Phelps, is dead."

"Dead?" she gasped. "How?"

"You see, Maggie," he explained heavily. "After we found you, in order to protect you from him, we made it known that you were dead..."

She nodded. "Right, your other CSI, Jesse? He explained it to us. I appreciate your protection, by the way…"

"It's not a problem," he assured her. "That meant that the only known witness in the case was the CSI that was injured at the garage. He was the only one to have any contact with the man who hurt you."

She nodded again.

"Well," Horatio continued heavily, his heart aching at the memory. "The man who attacked you was let out of holding. He evaded our tail and went to the CSI's house and attacked him, to try to get rid of him as a witness."

Maggie put a hand over her mouth.

"In the ensuing fight, Phelps fell down a flight of stairs and his neck was broken," Horatio finished.

There was a moment of stunned silence between them.

"I just wanted you to know that you're safe and you don't need to worry about him hurting you ever again," Horatio told her.

She gazed at him, a little confused.

"Get some rest," he said, patting her hand and getting up to go.

"Wait!" she cried. "What happened to the CSI he attacked? Is he okay?"

Horatio's heart ached. He looked at the floor. "He, uh… Well, Maggie, he was hurt pretty badly."

Her eyes were wide and sorrowful. "How bad is it?" she asked softly. "Is he here?"

Horatio cleared his throat. "He's upstairs in intensive care."

"Is he gonna be okay?" she pressed.

The answer killed him to say. "We don't know yet."

"Oh, Lieutenant, I'm so sorry," she said, truly meaning it. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Thank you, Maggie," he said. "But I don't want you to worry about that…"

"But he got hurt coming to find me!" she cried. "And now's he's hurt even worse because the same guy that attacked me attacked him!"

A short silence followed her words.

"Can I at least see him?" she asked quietly.

Horatio smiled sadly. "I'm sure he'd like that."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Natalia made her way quickly through the bustling hospital hallways, weaving between doctors, nurses, gurneys, patients and paramedics, heading for the elevator. She took it up to the fourth floor, the surgical ward.

As soon as she stepped off the elevator, it was as if someone simply turned off the sound. Up here, there were no ambulance sirens, no babies crying, no trauma victims screaming. It was very peaceful in comparison, and yet it was sadder. Certainly downstairs there was more blood and horror, but up here it was almost worse.

Up here, there was only waiting. Waiting to live. Waiting to die. Just waiting quietly with one's own thoughts for solitary company. If the ER was hell, then surely the OR must be purgatory.

Natalia walked to Ryan's room, having been granted the first time slot to leave work and come visit. She had to brace herself before she entered.

She was startled to find two people in the room, sitting by Ryan's side and talking quietly to each other. One was a young woman with curly brown hair, sitting in a wheelchair. The other was a young man. The way they were holding hands and leaning against each other, she assumed they were a couple. They looked up at her when she came in.

After a few awkward seconds, Natalia realized she was staring. She shook herself.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Maggie," the woman said. "And this is my boyfriend, John. You must be another CSI."

"Maggie…Maggie Hayes?"

She nodded. "Lieutenant Caine told me about your friend," she said sadly. "I just wanted to visit him, see if there was anything I could do. Thought I would stay with him until one of you came back."

Natalia smiled. "That's very sweet of you," she said warmly. "I'm sure Ryan appreciates that very much."

"We'll get out of here," Maggie said. "Give you some privacy."

"Thanks," Natalia said. "And thanks for stopping by. It really means a lot."

Maggie smiled at her as John began wheeling her out of the room. Natalia went to take the chair next to Ryan's bed.

"You know," Maggie said quietly. "When I was unconscious, I could still hear John talking to me, telling me to get better. I think it really helped to know someone was there who cared about me."

Natalia looked at her, something in her heart squeezing.

"I don't know if he can hear us or not," Maggie continued. "But I think it would be a worth a shot, you know?"

Natalia nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.

Maggie smiled at her, then let John wheel her out.

Natalia took a deep breath and let it out slowly to steady herself. She looked at Ryan lying there in front of her, a machine breathing for him. A painful lump rose in her throat. She took his cold hand in her warm one.

And then she couldn't hold it back anymore.

Natalia cried. She cried like she hadn't cried in a very long time, her whole body shaking with sobs as she held on to Ryan's hand, as if he was her anchor, her rock. She leaned forward and put her head on his bed, not caring how the cold nipped at her skin.

She didn't know how long she sat there like that. She wept until she had no more tears to cry. Natalia cried until she had nothing else left inside her heart.

She sat up slowly, her face red and puffy, but she didn't care what a mess she was. She grasped Ryan's limp hand in both of hers, holding it over her lips. She held it there as she looked upon him, her heart feeling as if it were breaking in half right then and there, her breath still shaking with sobs.

"Ryan," she whispered. "Can you hear me?"

No response whatsoever.

"Alexx said the doctors are gonna come see you again tomorrow morning," she murmured, rubbing his arm absent-mindedly. "They said when they turn off the machine, if you don't breathe on your own, that means... I just... I need you to breathe, Ryan, okay?"

She felt a fresh surge of emotion swirling deep in her gut. The tears began flowing again, but she didn't try to stop them.

"After all we've been through together," she continued softly. "I can't stand the thought of losing you. How you make me laugh, the way you look after everyone else, especially me... You're such a good friend, Ryan. You take care of everyone."

She smiled despite herself. "You remember our first and only date?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "What a disaster. I'm sorry, but did you actually think I'd _enjoy _Mexican wrestling?"

Natalia put his hand back down on the bed, but still held onto it. "But even after that, we stayed friends... Even after you found out I was a mole, sure you gave me crap for a while, but I never blamed you... And you let me back in after a while."

Her chin quivered. She looked at him with her bright, brown eyes, wishing with all her heart that his hazel ones were looking back.

"I need you to be okay, Ryan," she murmured. "We need you. I need you."

She reached up to put a hand on his head, her thumb gently stroking his forehead. Her tears dripped off her face and fell silently onto his bed.

"You take care of us," Natalia whispered. "And sometimes we didn't even realize it. But you were always there, weren't you?"

She interlaced her fingers with his.

"We'll take care of you, too, Ryan," she gasped, as a new wave of tears began cascading down her face. "I promise... We'll look after you like you look after us..."

Her breath caught in her chest and the sobs began wracking her body again.

"But you have to wake up," she sobbed softly. "We can't take care of you like this... you have to come back to us..."

She leaned in close until her lips were right next to his ear.

"Come back to us, Ryan," she whispered. "Please. Wake up."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

It was almost 3 p.m. Only fifteen hours until the test.

Horatio made his way down the SICU hallway. It was his turn to visit Ryan. Natalia had gone in the late morning, Calleigh and Eric had been there a couple hours ago, and Jesse was slated to get out early from work to drop by. From there, they all had plans to meet after work to wait together.

Horatio stopped just outside Ryan's room, listening. Someone inside was talking quietly. Horatio recognized Walter's voice.

"…crazy, you know that?" he was saying. His voice was thick, as if he were crying. "Fighting him when you couldn't even see him… Why didn't you just run outside, man? The cops were _right there_…"

Horatio looked at the ground. Walter's sorrow was heartbreaking.

"You should've just left me there and _ran_," Walter continued bitterly. "I know you knew where the door was, why didn't you just leave me?"

Horatio swallowed, knowing the answer just as well as Walter did. _Because you're his friend_, he thought. _He cared about you too much to just abandon you_.

Soft sobs rattled in Walter's throat. Horatio's chest began to physically ache with emotion as he listened to it.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan," Walter cried. His voice was muffled, indicating he had laid his head on the bed. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you…"

Horatio couldn't listen anymore. He turned away from the door, deciding to take a walk and let Walter have his privacy. It was all too much.

He fought his own tears down as he walked aimlessly down the hallway, not knowing where to go. He hadn't felt this lost since Eric had been in the hospital, also hanging on by a thread.

But what killed him the most was the thought, the sneaking little wisp of a thought, that he couldn't shrug off: Ryan could very well be dead already. Sure, his heart was still beating, but what made him who he was, his spirit, his mind, could be gone. Horatio still had to wait fifteen hours, more than _half a day_, to know for sure. He couldn't stand it. If there was one thing Horatio Caine hated, it was uncertainty, a trait that probably got him into investigation in the first place.

He walked in silence, solitude, the kind of atmosphere that at times he thought he was a little too used to. He walked on, physically and mentally feeling the hole in his life that had opened up like an old, gaping wound when Ryan was hurt.

Horatio had lost so many people in his life. Speed. Ray. Marisol. Just to name a few. He'd almost lost Eric twice. He'd almost lost Calleigh twice. His team was the only family he had left, and Ryan was just as much a part of that family as anyone else.

His thoughts suddenly flicked to Kyle. He missed him so much. Of course, he was proud of him, serving his country. He'd grown up so much in the short time Horatio had had with him. But Horatio constantly worried about him, his eyes glued to the news every time they spoke of casualties overseas. When Kyle was gone, Horatio depended on every member of his team to support him, which they did.

Not that he'd ever let on that he needed support.

And as Horatio thought about Kyle, hurting inside from missing his son and worrying about Ryan, he realized that Ryan really reminded him of Kyle sometimes.

Both had their problems in the past, especially how trouble seemed to find them no matter what they did. Even though the trouble was not of their creation, as it hardly ever was, they dealt with it admirably. They were both older than their years. And underneath all their time-hardened self-reliance and wariness, they were both genuinely good men. Their hearts were true, their spirits pure. They'd both been dealt a difficult hand in life, but they neither complained nor let it consume them. They simply fought on.

Come to think of it, Ryan had been there to help Kyle even when Horatio wasn't there. When a grenade was put in the body bag with a victim, and Kyle had accidentally triggered it... Horatio remembered Kyle telling him about it. He'd been so scared, too stunned to move. And it had been Ryan who'd pulled Kyle away from danger, risking his own neck to save his.

With a pang, Horatio realized he couldn't remember if he'd ever thanked Ryan for saving his son's life. But then again, Ryan never needed to be thanked, did he? Thanks or no thanks, he would have done the same thing all over again in a heartbeat.

Kyle. Ryan. Horatio loved both of them, in different and yet similar ways. Kyle was his son, and in a way, so was Ryan. Horatio had been the one to hire Ryan off patrol, had watched him learn the system with incredible speed and dedication and grow into one hell of a good CSI. Horatio was proud of him.

Horatio just wished Ryan didn't always feel like he had to handle things alone.

If Mark Gantry hadn't come bursting into CSI demanding to know about Billy's case, would Ryan have ever told him about being kidnapped, tortured and blackmailed by the Russian mob? Horatio tended to doubt it. He would have gone it alone. Ryan never told him about his money issues either, and Horatio hadn't found out until it was too late to help.

Why couldn't Ryan just let him help? What in his past had happened to him to make him such a loner? It was as if he expected people to let him down and simply chose to not give them the opportunity...

And here they were once again. Ryan was fighting, and Horatio couldn't help.

The thought sent a sickening tide of emotion, pain and guilt crashing through Horatio's heart and mind. He had to stop walking, collapsing heavily into an empty chair next to the wall.

Horatio sat there for a long time, his head in his hands, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself down. The rest of his team needed him to be strong for them.

He wasn't sure he could be for much longer.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The CSIs were very quiet. No one knew what to say. There was nothing anyone could say. All they could do was wait.

After work, everyone had done no more at home than change clothes and maybe take a shower. They hurried to the hospital as soon as they could, not even stopping to grab a bite to eat.

No one was very hungry. They could do nothing but sit in silence, running off anxiety and vending-machine coffee.

A clock hung on the wall above the door of Ryan's room. As Jesse watched it, he could have sworn it was broken; there was no way time really moved that slowly. It may as well have been moving backwards.

He stood by the window, leaning against the wall with his arms folded in front of him, watching everyone else. They all looked tired. They all looked stretched to their limit.

They all looked frightened.

Jesse didn't know Ryan very well. They got along just fine at work, and Ryan had been very welcoming and supportive when Jesse had first started. Jesse had felt like an old dog coming back to Miami, returning to where he'd worked with Horatio thirteen years ago. It amused him to think Ryan was probably still finishing up high school when Jesse first left Miami.

Ryan seemed like a genuinely nice guy to Jesse. Hard-working, dedicated, meticulous… all the necessary traits for a good CSI. He did his share of the work and did it well. And he really seemed to care about his teammates, even Jesse, who after all had only been there for a year.

Jesse half-wished Greg Phelps was still alive just so he could kill him. Jesse _hated _that monster with all his tortured heart. He hated what he did to those women, he hated what he did to Ryan, and he hated what he was still doing to this team.

_Come on, Ryan_, he thought as hard as he could. _Don't let that bastard win._

Jesse glanced up at the clock. It was almost 7 p.m. Eleven hours to go.

It felt like a _lifetime_!

Alexx and the other doctors had tried to fully explain everything to them: how the test would work, how they were slowly warming Ryan's body back up again, bringing him out of the hypothermia, how it might have helped his brain survive… but they were barely listening, lost in their own thoughts.

Ryan hadn't triggered the vent the whole time, meaning his body's instinct to breathe on its own had yet to kick in. Judging by the looks on the faces of Dr. Bell and Dr. Barnes, as well as the tears that now seemed to be constantly on the verge of spilling from Alexx's eyes, Jesse took that to be a bad thing.

And so the CSI team kept their silent vigil at Ryan's side.

That night, whether they believed in God or not, they all prayed.

(+)

Time crawled slowly by. After what felt like a year to Jesse, he looked back up at the clock and was dismayed to see it was only 9:18 p.m.

Natalia had stepped out to use the restroom. A nurse and Dr. Barnes had come in to check on things once. Other than that, nobody else had moved.

Jesse rubbed his eyes tiredly.

He suddenly became aware of a steadily growing sound coming from down the hall. He didn't think anything of it first, until he realized the sound was a voice. A familiar one.

Natalia's.

Jesse frowned. What was Natalia being loud for?

He looked up toward the door. He saw Horatio had noticed it too. They caught each other's eye and together walked swiftly to the door and down the hall toward the waiting room, following Natalia's voice.

"Get out of here!" they heard her snarl.

Jesse and Horatio looked at each other, shocked. Neither had ever heard Natalia use that tone of voice with anyone before.

They rounded the corner to enter the waiting room. Natalia was standing with her back turned to them, every line of her body rigid with tension, like a fight dog just waiting to be turned loose.

In front of her stood Harvey Wayne.

Jesse's eyebrows snapped together in a scowl as Horatio's face immediately seemed to turn into stone. White-hot fury seemed to suddenly begin radiating off the two men as they walked forward to stand on either side of Natalia. Her face was harsh and cold as she glared at the man in front of her.

"Please..." Wayne said pleadingly, all trace of his haughtiness gone. He wrung his hands anxiously. "You must understand..."

"I don't have to understand anything," she hissed. "Get out. Now."

Wayne looked from Horatio to Natalia to Jesse as if he were looking for an ally. There was none to be found.

"He told me he was innocent!" he cried, sweat appearing on his pudgy forehead. "It's my job to believe my client!"

"Is it also your job to set murderers free?" Horatio rumbled icily.

"Of course not!" Wayne blustered fretfully. "I didn't know, I swear!"

"You're incredibly stupid, you know that?" Jesse growled. "You heard her, now beat it."

Wayne opened and closed his mouth multiple times, looking like a dying fish. "I just wanted to apologize...," he whimpered like a whipped dog.

"You don't get to apologize," Horatio snapped. "Two police officers were attacked by your client because you set him free. One is barely hanging on to life by a thread, and he's probably going to die. Your client died as well. All that blood is on your hands, Mr. Wayne."

Wayne shamefully directed his gaze to the floor. "I heard...I was just doing my job..." he mumbled. "I just thought... I wanted to pay my respects..."

The three of them bristled at his words. It was all they could do to stop themselves from beating him senseless right there in the middle of the surgical ward.

"He's not dead yet, Mr. Wayne," Horatio hissed coldly, his blue eyes like shards of ice.

Wayne swallowed.

Jesse heard someone approach them from behind. He turned his head to see Calleigh, Eric, Tripp and Walter making their way toward them. They must have heard the commotion as well.

Walter had the strangest look on his face when he saw who they were talking to. His eyes were cold, his face blank. He walked toward them purposefully, not taking his eyes off Wayne. Jesse knew exactly what was coming.

Walter walked straight past Jesse, stepped in front of Wayne and in one motion punched him right in the face.

Wayne shot backward from the bear-like blow, sprawling out on the floor dazedly, his lip bleeding. He sat up and gazed fearfully at Walter towering over him. Walter stared down at him, his eyes alight with the deepest, iciest hatred Jesse had ever seen. It was utterly terrifying, especially coming out from a soul as gentle as Walter.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Wayne stuttered.

Walter simply looked at him, then turned and walked away, out of the waiting room and back to Ryan's room. No one stopped him. No one dared.

No one moved to help Wayne up. He looked at each CSI in turn, in awe and in fear of the sheer amount of hatred raining down upon him at once.

He slowly picked himself off the ground. "I've decided to quit defense and be a prosecutor," he mumbled awkwardly. "After this... I can't do it anymore."

Wayne took a hesitant step toward them, pulling a business card out of his jacket pocket with a trembling hand.

"If any of you ever need my help... with a case, with anything... call me," he said quietly, holding the card out shakily.

Not a single one of them moved to take the card.

"We will _never _be so desperate as to need help from _you_, Mr. Wayne," Horatio said quietly.

Wayne swallowed again, retracting the card and tucking it back in his pocket. He took a step backward, away from them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he turned and hurried from the room.

(+)

That night was the longest of all their lives. They rarely spoke. They barely even looked at each other. Every so often someone would leave to use the bathroom or go raid the vending machine, just to take a walk and get out. The waiting was maddening.

Despite their best efforts to stay awake, some of them dozed off from time to time. The only ones who never slept were Walter and Horatio. Those two kept their solemn vigil all night long, like silent stone guardians watching over Ryan.

Calleigh sat in her chair next to Eric, her head resting in one hand, eyes closed. She seemed to flutter in and out of consciousness as she sat, thinking about Ryan and hoping against hope that he would be okay...

Her mind felt hazy with exhaustion, as if she were floating on a wavy sea of misty water. The swells rocked her up and down gently as she passed in and out of sleep.

Up...down...up...down...

She suddenly woke to someone shaking her shoulder gently. Calleigh looked up at Alexx.

"It's time, honey," she said quietly.


	27. AN

For some reason, they won't let me post an Author's Note on my next chapter... But it's kind of important so I guess I have to put it in as a new chapter. Weird.

Author's Note: "Darkness" has been one hell of a ride, friends. There's only Chapters 27 and 28 left. I just wanted to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all the kind reviews, messages and support these last few weeks. You make it worth it :). I promise to keep at it.

On that note, I actually need your help with my next story. I have *four* (eep!) ideas for new stories, and I'd love some input as to what you'd like to see from me next. Hit up my profile sometime. At the top there you'll see a poll pertaining to which idea you want to see first. I'll write all four eventually, but YOU get to pick the order, because I am mind-numbingly indecisive :).

Without further ado, I'm sure you'd like to get back to reading to see whether Ryan will ever wake up. Love you, have at it!

Don't forget to check out that poll when you're done!


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The tension in the room was unbearable. Dr. Barnes stood near Ryan's head, getting ready to remove the respirator. The CSI team surrounded the bed, watching him in earnest.

He didn't think he could bear it if the test went the wrong way.

The hypothermic padding had been taken off Ryan. He was in a normal hospital gown, underneath the blankets. The re-warming process had gone smoothly. Dr. Barnes just hoped it helped.

He looked up at the clock. The second hand was on the nine. He would unhook the respirator when it hit the twelve, so the ten seconds would be easy to count.

Everyone else in the room held their breath.

It hit the eleven.

"Here we go," Dr. Barnes said quietly.

Just as the second hand hit the twelve, he disconnected the ventilator.

Time seemed to move unbearably slow. The second hand flicked sluggishly to the next notch on the clock face as if it had been submerged into a thick, syrupy substance. Each tick rattled hollowly in their ears.

Ten.

Jesse stared at the blank tile floor. He couldn't bear to watch.

Nine.

Calleigh pressed herself closer into Eric's warm hold. He closed his eyes and sent up a small prayer to whoever would listen.

Eight.

Tripp stood leaning against the doorframe, not blinking. Small beads of sweat sprung up along his forehead.

Seven.

Natalia gripped Ryan's limp hand, silently begging him to breathe.

Six.

Walter sat next to her, feeling numb all over. He watched his friend, desperately searching for any signs of response on his still face.

Five.

Alexx took a tiny step toward Horatio. She grabbed his hand.

Four.

Natalia's chin quivered, tears welling up in her eyes. "_Please_, Ryan," she whispered. Only Walter heard her.

Three.

Calleigh glanced up at the clock, cold fear rising in her heart. He should have breathed by now…

Two.

Horatio squeezed Alexx's hand. She held onto his tightly as they both held their breath.

One.

Dr. Barnes looked up at the clock, his heart sinking.

Zero.

Dr. Barnes dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly.

"Wait!" Alexx cried.

Dr. Barnes looked sharply at the respiratory monitor.

There was a tiny blip on the screen. He stared at it disbelievingly.

It was really there.

He looked down at Ryan. He was triggering the vent on his own. His brain was still functioning.

Ryan was still alive.

Barely.


	29. Chapter 28

**Author's Note:** Here it is. The last chapter. Thanks so much for sticking with me. I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I have nothing but love for all of you!

Don't forget to check out that poll on my profile if you haven't already!

On a side note, while I write I listen to music. While I was writing this last chapter, this random song called "Say Hello" by Nitin Sawhney came on, and it struck me as freakishly appropriate :P. It's actually a song I downloaded after hearing it on a CSI: Miami episode, can't remember which, though, sorry. (Just looked it up, it's used at the end of Season 2 Episode 1 "Blood Brothers.") Check it out on iTunes or YouTube if you're looking for some good mood music while you read.

Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter 28**

_Two Weeks Later_

Horatio walked the brightly lit hallway alone. He decided he definitely liked it much better up here in the recovery ward than down in the SICU. It was much more hopeful, much more… alive. He came to the room he was looking for, the one he'd been in at least once every day for the past week.

Ryan had been moved to recovery a week ago. He was finally breathing adequately on his own now; they had removed the tube from his throat yesterday. He was still pale and hadn't regained consciousness yet, but the doctors assured them that everything was coming back together nicely. The stab wounds were healing, the damage to his kidney had not led to necessary removal, and there appeared to be no lasting effects of either the trauma or hypothermia.

Still, Ryan slept. Despite what the doctors told them, that it was normal for a patient to take a while to come around, the CSIs were anxious. There was always at least one of them by his bedside day and night. They would never be fully satisfied that he was recovering until the day he opened his eyes.

Horatio stepped inside. Natalia was sitting in the chair next to Ryan's bed. Horatio was startled to see she was wiping tears from her eyes from one hand, her other gripping Ryan's hand.

"Natalia?" he asked concerned. Had something happened...?

She looked up at him. He was relieved when she smiled.

"He squeezed my hand," she explained cheerily, flicking the last remnants of tears from her face. "I was talking to him and I think I felt him squeeze my hand just a little bit."

Horatio smiled. "That's good news."

She looked up at the clock. "I wish I didn't have to go to work," she said, letting go of Ryan's hand and standing up. "Call us if he wakes up?"

"Of course," he answered.

Natalia smiled at him and then at Ryan, then left.

Horatio slowly walked over to the chair she had just vacated and sat down. He watched Ryan for a few moments in silence, twirling his sunglasses idly in his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I thought I'd lost you, Ryan," he whispered, something in his chest tightening up with emotion.

Horatio looked up at Ryan's peaceful face. As he thought about it, it really set in just how close Ryan had been to death. It scared him to no end.

"I don't know what I would've done if you'd..." He couldn't finish. He let out a shaky breath.

"You know, sometimes I think...I think you really remind me of myself," Horatio said quietly. "And that scares me more than anything."

Painful memories flicked through his head as he sat there. His parents, Ray, Marisol, Speed... He'd lost them all, and mostly because of his job.

"I don't want that for you," he continued softly. "I guess that's why I sometimes keep you at a distance... I don't want you to end up like me... Alone... Having your whole life revolve around the job... You're too good for that."

Horatio hesitantly laid his hand on top of Ryan's.

"Ryan, I..."

He sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor. He didn't know how to phrase the words and emotions tumbling around in his heart. He shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you... I'm sorry for whatever happened to you to make you think you always have to handle everything by yourself..."

He looked up at Ryan again.

"I want you to know you're not alone... I want you to know I'll always be there for you... So... If you have to fight, like you're fighting now... All you have to do is come to me, and I promise I will help you... Okay?"

At first, there was only silence, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the muffled sounds of the hallway as Horatio sat there with his hand on Ryan's.

Then, ever so slightly, Ryan's hand moved.

Horatio looked at it, startled, but he knew it had really happened.

"Ryan?"

(+)

_... _

_...What happened?_

_..._

_Where am I?_

_..._

_Am I... dead?_

_..._

_No... I'm not dead... This hurts too much..._

_You don't feel pain when you're dead... do you?_

_Then again... This pain isn't so bad... Maybe I am dead..._

_..._

_Wait... I'm in a bed... I'm in a hospital... aren't I?_

_He stabbed me... We fell down the stairs... Walter... Alexx... _

_Then... nothing... Now I'm here..._

_..._

_Is... Is there someone here?_

_A voice... Someone's there..._

_..._

_Horatio?_

(+)

Ryan's eyes flickered open.

His eyesight was much improved. It wasn't just a little bit of light anymore. Everything was still sort of blurry, but he could distinguish the general outline of a window, a door... someone sitting next to his bed.

Horatio.

Ryan's eyes felt heavier than lead. It was a task just to keep them open.

Horatio leaned forward, a tired smile on his face.

Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but words wouldn't come out. His throat felt inhumanly thick and dry.

"Don't try to talk," Horatio told him. "You've been out for a long time."

Ryan's limbs felt weighted down. He looked around the room through exhausted hazel eyes, too weak to even turn his head. He returned his gaze to Horatio. He suddenly realized Horatio's hand was on top of his.

"You really scared us, Ryan," Horatio said quietly.

There was a tiny light of concern and surprise in Ryan's eyes.

Horatio smiled. "Good to have you back, Mr. Wolfe."

Ryan grinned tiredly, closing his eyes to get some more sleep. Just staying awake was too much work for him.

As he slowly drifted off back to sleep, he heard Horatio's quiet voice one more time...

"I'll be right here."

**The End**


	30. Chapter 29

**PSYCH! :P**

**Author's Note:** So… hi. As much as I love this story, something's been bothering me about it. I've never been one to go back and change stories once I mark them completed, but I didn't think it would hurt this time around. I realized as I was rereading this story that I never had a resolution with Walter and Ryan! I knew that back when I was writing it, but it made sense at the time. But now… it bothers me. As I'm sure it may have bothered some of you. So I whipped this little bit up to put my mind at ease. Hope you like it!

* * *

**Chapter 29**

Ryan felt as if he had dropped out of time. His mind was so hazy. He couldn't tell the difference between dreaming and being awake anymore. Sounds faded in and out of existence as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he heard the rhythmic beeping of a machine somewhere nearby.

Sometimes he heard voices. People calling his name gently, speaking soothing words in his ear. They sounded familiar, but his poor mind felt too weak to fully grasp their identity. Once in a while his eyes flickered open. There was always someone there, sitting calmly by his bedside. He couldn't always remember who it was, his mind was far too exhausted, but he distinctly remembered seeing Tripp once. Probably because it had been a bit of a surprise to see him there, looking concerned and caring instead of his usual cantankerous self.

Whoever was sitting there at the time would smile at him, say hello. He was always too tired to do anything more than smile back weakly and fall asleep again. He had no idea how much time had passed between his brief moments of consciousness. Sometimes when he woke up, the sunlight was streaming through his window. He thought he heard rain at least once. And then he was pretty sure he woke up in the middle of the night, because he'd found Natalia sleeping gracefully in the chair next to his bed, the moonlight half-illuminating her lovely face. That had been a nice image to fall back asleep to.

Little by little, he felt some semblance of strength returning. He could move his hands and feet a little. He could stay awake for longer than five seconds if he tried hard enough. The painkillers they had him on were working well, but they weren't doing anything to improve his lucidity. His back ached sometimes, but it wasn't anything unbearable.

His thoughts were scattered. If he ever tried to grasp one, it seemed to slip through his fingers. But vaguely a picture began to materialize in his mind of what had happened to him. Piece by piece, he remembered…

Ryan opened his eyes.

Sleep immediately began pressing on the back of his mind, trying to coax him back under. But he fought it off.

There was someone he needed to talk to, and it couldn't wait anymore.

Ryan grinned weakly when he saw that person sitting at his bedside, resting his head on one hand.

Walter looked up when he saw Ryan flex his fingers, seeing his eyes open. He leaned forward, a worried look on his face. There were shadows under his eyes, giving his normally cheery face a haunted look. His eyes were bloodshot. He smiled a very relieved-looking smile.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Ryan's eyelids fluttered closed, heavier than lead, but he held on to wakefulness as hard as he could. He swallowed, his throat feeling inhumanly thick and gross. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a cracked whisper came out.

"Dude… you look …like hell."

Walter laughed. "You're a fine one to talk. How're you feeling?"

"…Tired."

"You've been in and out for a couple days now," Walter told him. "The doctors said you're gonna be okay. I think they want to study you now or something, though. Said no one should have survived what you did."

Ryan raised his eyebrows in amusement. "…Really?"

Walter didn't say anything for a moment. "Ryan, you were dead," he said quietly. "_Dead_. A couple times, actually."

Ryan opened his eyes again and grinned weakly at his friend. "Sorry… about that," he whispered. "What… can I say? … I'm awesome."

At first it looked like Walter was going to laugh again, but instead there was a terribly pained look in his eyes. With a start, Ryan realized there were tears welling up in his friend's eyes. Walter hid his face in his hands.

"…Walter?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "I'm so sorry, Ryan," he mumbled through his hands. "I'm so sorry."

Ryan felt sorrow well up in his heart. He hated to see his friend like this. Greg Phelps was to blame, not Walter.

"Listen… to me," he pressed weakly. He didn't think he'd be able to stay awake much longer, but this was too important. "This wasn't… your fault…. You saved me."

Walter reluctantly took his hands from his face and met Ryan's eyes. There wasn't an ounce of blame or falsehood in his face. He wholeheartedly meant what he was saying.

"You almost died… protecting me," Ryan continued tiredly. "You woke me up… If it weren't for you… Phelps would have… killed me."

Walter looked down at his hands in his lap. "He almost did," he mumbled.

"But he _didn't_," Ryan insisted. "'Cause you got me… to the hospital. 'Cause of _you_, Walter."

Walter still looked doubtful, not meeting Ryan's eyes.

"…Thank you," Ryan whispered, closing his eyes again. He wanted to say more, but he was just _so tired_… "Thank you… for saving me."

A moment of silence passed between them. The sounds of the room, the beeping of the monitor, were starting to fade again in Ryan's ears.

"Thanks for not dying," Walter muttered.

"No problem…" Sleep sounded like a very good idea…

"And, hey, next time?" Walter said, his voice suddenly changing into a chiding tone. "When you're at a crime scene? Don't be an idiot and go off on your own!"

Ryan grinned weakly as the shadows gathered in the back of his mind, preparing to drift off again. "Yes, mother."

**THE END**

**(for reals this time lol)

* * *

**

**Author's Note:** Hope you enjoyed it! :D As always, I adore reviews! *hinthint*


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